


only fangs and sweet beguiling

by Dresupi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 1880s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Escape, Evil Plans, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, I did very little research, Injury, Kidnapping, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Mail Order Brides, Marriage of Convenience, Married Couple, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Reformed Brock Rumlow, Reformed Criminal, Sheriff - Freeform, Smut, Stabbing, Violence, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2019-11-04 13:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17898758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi
Summary: Darcy Lewis finds herself both intrigued by the unknown and disparaging of what she knows as she makes the long journey to Serpent Flats in the Dakota Territory to marry a sheriff with whom she's only ever exchanged letters.Brock Rumlow is a changed man, a lawman. And his past keeps threatening to run him over. But now it's not just him. It's his new bride too.  A bride he's hellbent on protecting, no matter how sharp her tongue can be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zephrbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephrbabe/gifts).



> I blame zephrbabe for this.
> 
> Originally a one shot that my muse just RAN OFF WITH.
> 
> I actually have buffer chapters of this, so I'm going to try to post every Saturday. 
> 
> **DISCLAIMER: Also, I did zero research, all my 'facts' are the result of google searches while I write. I'm not interested in a historian's take on this time period. The point of the fic is the romance, not the historical facts. If that bothers you, go on and leave now. Because I am not open to concrit. Please/thanks!**

**Darcy**

* * *

 

Darcy stepped off the train and onto the wooden slats that made up the floor of the tiny station. The air was thick, but not nearly as warm as it had been when she’d boarded the train back in Colorado. She felt more physically comfortable, but her belly was tied up with knots. Nerves. Dread. Fear.

She hadn’t even arrived in her new hometown yet and she was already wishing she hadn’t agreed to this.

Well, she likely would have agreed no matter what, unless Mr. Rumlow’s letters had indicated that he was an unkind man.

She’d picked up hints of stodginess. Bluster. Perhaps even a bit aloof. But nothing close to unkind.

Perhaps she should have asked for more letters? But honestly there were no prospects she’d been happy with back home and this was her one chance of moving west to be a part of something new. The number of letters wouldn’t have mattered. Despite the fear, the nervousness, and the dread, she felt something else blooming up beneath it all. A flower of hope in the empty dust field.

Hope that gave way to excitement for the unknown. Yes, her father had been correct when he deemed her too complicated for a Virginian.

The exact thing that scared her was all she wanted in the world, so when her uncle came forth with letters from an old acquaintance. One who lived out west in the Dakota Territory. One who was looking for a wife, well…

She hadn’t had to think too hard before she agreed to write this Brock Rumlow.

Both the letters were burning a hole in the hat case she’d stuffed them in. The case was crammed full of everything except a hat. The hat was already on her head at any rate. She decided to pull out both of those letters and give them another look once she was tucked safely into the stagecoach. The case turned bit of luggage wasn’t going on the back with her trunk, anyway. What was hidden away inside was more important than any of her clothes or the china in her hope chest. 

Well, it wasn’t exactly her hope chest. That would have cost too much to ship out with her on the steamer. It was everything she could cram in around or wrap up in her new sets of clothes. She had the set of fine china mixed within in all the linens and sets of baby clothes she’d been embroidering since she was a young girl.

From the sounds of Mr. Rumlow’s letters, Serpent Flats was small, and she’d likely never have an instance to use the china, but like hell she was leaving it behind for her sister to snap up. That girl had a bit of enough, what with being married to one of the richest men in Virginia, she didn’t need Darcy’s china too.

Besides, she didn’t expect Mr. Rumlow had more than a tin cup to his name. Probably a bowl and a plate of some sort. But not much more than that. Men often didn’t. So even if she had no one to invite over for dinner, it’d get used, one way or another.

Darcy also had a nice set of silver from her mother. She’d had to forego the case, but she had every piece lining the bottom of her travel trunk. She hoped Mr. Rumlow had some sort of furniture or hutch in his home because she couldn’t keep it lining her trunk forever.

An attendant brought out her trunk, hefting it onto the boards beside her with a grunt. He left without so much as a word and Darcy supposed she’d have to drag it herself to the stagecoach.

It wasn’t as if there were many to be found in the place. She spotted only one across the street being hitched up to some horses.

It wasn’t so far, and when she drew near, the man atop the coach leaped down to take it for her, once she showed him her ticket with the destination.

There were two other ladies currently navigating the area around the coach, one was shouting instructions to a man strapping the trunks onto the back. The other was fanning herself with a kerchief. 

Darcy decided fancied a stroll in the sun before being locked up in a stuffy box with those two while they rode up further into the Dakota territory.

She’d been on the train for six nights before taking another one north, stopping here and boarding a coach for the last six hour stretch of the trip. 

She supposed they must be close to Serpent Flats if her ride was indeed only six hours.

Six hours from now, and she’d be meeting her husband for the first time.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and her stomach. No need in exciting herself before the long coach ride.

Darcy stretched her legs, the hat box banging softly against her thigh as she walked around the small town and back again.

By the time she returned, the other two women were climbing up into the coach now, so Darcy decided she should probably go over as well. She accepted the driver’s hand as she moved into the back with the women.

Miss Priscilla Wright, and Miss Margaret Sheffield, their names were. Darcy hadn’t really bargained on learning them, considering the unlikelihood of ever seeing either woman again, but when confronted with manners such as theirs, it only stood to respond in kind.

Both of them were young like she was, but she didn’t except anything less. There wasn’t much call for women out here unless one was young, single and looking to settle down.

Neither of them was going as far as she was, though. Looked like the last half of her trip would be spent alone.

It was just as well, even if she  _ was _ a little sore that both of these women were heading to the same town. Would likely be fast and great friends as a result.

And Darcy knew no one. Save for Mr. Rumlow. And that was only a little.

But the soreness faded quickly with one sharp cackle of laughter from Miss Sheffield. Or was it Miss Wright? Darcy couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Serpent Flats was a farming community. With plenty of families making it up. Which meant she’d have plenty of opportunities to make new friends. And hopefully, they wouldn’t laugh in such a high-pitched annoying way.

She wondered again briefly at Mr. Rumlow’s appearance. She didn’t even have a clue what he looked like.  One of these girls, Miss Wright, she believed, had a photograph, which was downright surprising, all things considered.  Miss Wright’s husband-to-be looked like a big white lump with dark hair and it wasn’t any surprise that he couldn’t convince any girl he knew to marry him, but Darcy kept that to herself. 

For all she knew, her Mr. Rumlow would be just as bad off as Mr. Lumps.

Except he likely wasn’t, considering his vocation as the town’s sheriff.

Even if he was homely, lawmen tended towards the more muscular and solidly built. The paunch on that fella looked to be homegrown. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Lumps was a banker.

But  Darcy kept her husband’s vocation to herself.  Her father had warned her not to give away too much information. So she played her cards close. Like the fact that her husband-to-be was a lawman. And that the thing she was hiding in her hat box wasn’t pearls or a golden locket like the woman sitting to her left.

It was a pearl-handled revolver that her father had given her to make certain she could defend herself.

None of that was information either of these women should be privy to.

No matter that these two women were seemingly quite empty-headed, they were two empty heads who knew how to keep a conversation going. And after they left the coach, the trip felt a lot longer and more dreary as Darcy let her head rest against the window.

Of course, now that she was alone, she could look once more at the letters.

She undid the buckle on her hat box, reaching inside for both of Mr. Rumlow’s letters. They were fairly long. A few pages or so each. He didn’t fill them with platitudes or promises of love and devotion. No, he detailed his land. The sheriff’s station.  The one stubborn Jersey cow he milked in the morning and in the evening. The chicks he’d bought from an older lady in town that he was raising up for her. The three-room house he built for her. It was lavish if she was reading his tone correctly. A room for them. And a separate room for their future children.

A wood stove in the kitchen. A table for her to work at. A sitting area to receive guests.

It was likely the biggest house in Serpent Flats and Darcy was already feeling claustrophobic. The home she’d left was likely four times the size of this one.

But she supposed with a little spit shine and some help from the linens she’d folded up in her trunk, she could brighten the place up.

She waffled between excitement for the unknown and dread of what she  _ did _ know.

First things first. She had the second half of this trip to suffer through, and then she’d meet her husband to be. Marry him at the church in town. And accompany him back to this home he’d built for her.

She took a very deep breath and began to wait.

* * *

She must have fallen asleep because it felt like only a few seconds later when she awoke and found herself awake and blinking at the driver of the coach.

“Miss, we’re here. Serpent Flats.” He looked as if that wasn’t the first time he’d had to tell her.

“Oh…” she exclaimed, rousing herself to step down out of the coach on shaky legs. There was nothing but dirt beneath her feet as she looked around.  Mr. Rumlow was supposed to meet her here and pay the coachman. She had no money to her name to pay him herself, and Mr. Rumlow wasn’t here? No one was?

Darcy’s heart beat fast in her chest as she glanced around.

The coachman unloaded her trunk onto the dirt, churning up a bit of a cloud as he gazed expectantly off to her left.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when something moved behind her.  In the shadow of the general store leaned someone in dark pants and jacket. A low brimmed hat. Wearing a gun at the hip.

Darcy very nearly opened her mouth and embarrassed herself, but stopped the second the person stepped into the light.

Not a man, as she had expected.  A woman. 

With bright red hair shorn short on her neck. The woman lifted her hat and pulled something from beneath it. “Miss Lewis?” she ventured, spinning a small bag with coins inside.

“Y--y-yes,” Darcy replied, practically willing her voice to cease its silly wavering. But it was all in vain, she was rightly shaken now, having just awoken a few seconds before and likewise being met not by a man like she’d expected. But a woman, dressed as a man.

“I’m Rumlow’s deputy. Natasha Romanov,” the woman explained, before dumping the contents of the leather pouch into the waiting hand of the coachman.  “Brock sends his apologies, but he had a matter to attend to. He’ll meet ya at the church.”

Darcy gulped and reached down for the handle on her trunk, unsure of what to do with it other than lug it with her to the end of the street and up to the white church at the end of the road.

“I’ll take that,” Natasha offered. “Or at least help you lug it.” She reached down for the other handle and the two lifted it easily between them. “I’m to take you with me until it’s time to head up to the church. We can lock your things in the cell, ain’t being used anyway. Not that anyone’d make off with the sheriff's bride-to-be’s belongings.  This is a small town. Not a stupid one.”

Darcy felt a smile prick at her lips.  She’d decided to like Natasha. To find the woman amusing at the very least. She wanted very much to ask how Natasha had found herself deputized in such a small town but worried it would be rude.

Trying to take in the town, Darcy walked alongside Natasha, but she couldn’t really make out much.  A few buildings. A livery stable. A general store. A saloon across the street. 

“It’s mostly farmers out here…” Natasha explained, looking around at the townsfolk staring at Darcy. “Most of em live out yonder at their farms. Don’t come into town for much, save the post office or a drink at the bar. Sometimes they need the doctor…” She nodded towards a small building at the end of the road. “The women come to buy fabric when Stark’s has it.  You’ll get to meet everyone tonight. They’re kind of looking forward to this. Been wanting Brock to settle down for a while.” She smiled.

“A famous bachelor, I take it,” Darcy asked, pausing as Natasha tilted her head towards the door to the sheriff's office.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Natasha laughed. “I think half of those people expect you to chicken out.”

Darcy raised her eyebrows, alarmed. “Just how ornery is this sheriff? I came here all the way from Virginia. This is my life now.”

“We’ll see,” Natasha said with a grin. “I personally think you’re a little less green than I thought you’d be. But you still seem big city enough to hate it out here.”

“As long as I’m not lonely, I won’t hate it,” Darcy promised, looking around the station for a moment. “So. You work with him. What’s my betrothed like?”

“Oh you’re lucky we’ve got a spell to sit,” Natasha answered, pulling up a chair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a Brock POV. I hope you like this little intro to his character! <3 
> 
> Also, they meet in this chapter! YAY!

**Brock**

* * *

 

The sun beat down on his brow and Brock removed his hat to ruffle his hair and attempt to dry off some of the perspiration that threatened to drip down his forehead. It wasn’t insufferably warm out here in the middle of the unkempt forest, but he found that his nerves didn’t care how warm it was. He ran his hand over his face, expecting to feel the beard and instead finding his skin smooth.  Sighing, he adjusted his hat.

No matter how straight he stood, he’d always be sweating in the shade when it came to Jack Rollins. 

Keeping his facial hair would have been better for a meeting of this kind, but he’d wanted to make a gesture for his bride-to-be, so he’d bathed and shaved. A hell of a lot of good it’d done him. Now he was sweating off his soap and cologne, but still somehow smelled enough like a dandy to draw notice.

In his own defense, Brock hadn’t expected Rollins to agree to meet with him so soon.

Rumlow knew enough about Hydra to recognize that he shouldn’t dare try to reschedule, so it was with great misgivings that he’d sent his deputy to meet Miss Lewis’ stagecoach and himself had ridden off in the opposite direction.

Whisper whinnied as he approached the meeting place. His horse was nervous as hell and with every right to be.

“Shhh, girl…” he murmured, running his hand through her mane and patting her softly. “It’s okay.”

In all truth, he didn’t know without a doubt that Jack would follow the rules. It was good manners to come alone, for a preliminary meet-up such as this, but ever since Rollins had taken over the gang of outlaws, they’d been foregoing the code of honor that Pierce had fought so hard to keep in place.

Brock would just as soon not deal with Hydra again, but they’d been rustling the farmers on the outskirts of Serpent Flats and he had to lay down the law.

Nobody’d been hurt, but food stores had been stolen. The community had banded together to help the poor Winslow Family who had lost their grain stores, but if Hydra kept taking, there’d be little for the residents to spread around.

He’d thought surely with the lucky fellas striking gold in the Black Hills, that’d be the last he and Natasha would see of Rollins and the rest of the gang. But they were slow to pull out.

Which was precisely the purpose of this meeting.

He glanced around, seeing no one yet.

It was silent. Not even the wind was blowing through the treetops. He was so far from Serpent Flats, if he wasn’t so dead certain of the direction he’d come from, he’d probably be wandering in these unconquered forests until he died.

He could have invited Rollins to meet him in town, but he hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone. Brock Rumlow’s past threatened to come snapping back to the forefront enough on its own, it sure as hell didn’t need any help from gossip.

Indeed, his Hydra days were far behind him, but a meeting with Jack Rollins might set the locals’ teeth to edge. A sheriff needed to appear neutral. And out in the unsettled woods on the outskirts of their town was the most neutral territory Brock could think of.

He heard Jack’s telltale whistle, low and whining. It set Whisper’s hackles, not to mention Brock’s.  He’d recognize the sound anywhere.

“Good afternoon,” he said slowly, not making to climb down from Whisper’s back yet.

“Same to you, Rumlow…”

Rollins appeared from the clearing just in front of Brock, he was on foot, which meant his horse was tied up somewhere else.

Brock warily climbed down from Whisper and patted her. Confident she’d stay, he walked a little closer to Jack.

“Lands alive, Brock.” Jack whistled a little. “So kind of you to dress up for little old me, but I promise. This is strictly business.”

Trying to keep calm, Brock shrugged. “Have another engagement later.”

“Another engagement? My, but you’re busy, ain’t ya?”

“Appears that way,” Brock replied. “But if I’m correct, you’re not here to small talk.”

“If I’m correct, you’re here to talk about one thing in particular. Before I discuss that matter, I’d very much like to small talk.  What’s your other engagement?”

“A wedding,” he answered, hoping in vain that the explanation would be enough.

“A weddin’? My, my, my.  It was my understanding that all of your residents were married up and startin’ families. ‘Less you’ve had a new arrival?”

“We’ve had one, yep.”

Jack’s face was level. “Am I to send congratulations for your deputy, Sheriff?”

“No. Reckon if you’re sending anything, it’d be to me.”

Jack’s brow leveled, a sickly smile spreading. “Well goodness. I had no idea you were setting your claim on anyone, Sheriff. Does she know everything?”

“She knows enough, “Brock replied.

“She pretty?”

“I dunno. Haven’t met her yet.”

“You’re getting married sight unseen? Ain’t you worried she’ll look worse than that horse of yours?” Jack nodded back to Whisper.

Brock smirked. “I figure if she looks half as pretty as Whisper, I’ll be lucky.”

“You’d be better off marryin’ that Deputy of yours,” Rollins scoffed. “There’s a filly who needs someone looking after her.”

“Romanov takes care of herself,” Brock replied, bristling. “If you’re through shootin’ the breeze…”

Jack crossed both arms in front of him. “Right, right, right. You wanna know when we’re clearin’ outta here. Headin’ up to the Black Hills and making ourselves some other sheriff’s problem?”

Brock shrugged. “That sounds about right, yep.”

“Well, I’ll make it easy for ya, Rumlow. We ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Brock set his jaw. “These are simple farm folks, Rollins. They ain’t got nothing you need.”

“They got food. And lots of it. And the way I figure… we hang around here, we ain't’ gotta worry about eatin’, amiright?”

“You need more’n food, and you know it.”

“We need a base, is what we need. Hydra’s growin’.  You cut off one head--”

“Two more shall take its place,” Brock finished, practically spitting the words. He’d said it so many times, it almost felt like breathing. The hairs on the back of his neck raised. He was very aware of the firearm strapped to his hip.

“See, I got bigger aims’n gold, Rumlow. I aim to take this town. Whether you stay in power there, or I kill ya and put someone else in charge, now… that’s up to you.”

Anger sizzled below the surface of his skin, threatening to pop out and burn Rollins if he wasn’t careful. “You know I won’t ever work for you, Rollins.”

The other man snickered. “Now I want you to take some time to think about it, Rumlow. I don't want an answer right now.”

“That’s the only answer you’re gettin’ from me.”

“Let me rephrase that. I won’t take an answer  _ now _ . I want you to think long and hard about this. I’m very happy for your good news, Brock. See… you got a little woman now. You’re bound to have a couple of ankle biters in a few years. A family. Wouldn't it be better for that family if you’re not dead? If your new bride doesn’t have to get remarried just to live? Because she would. Out here? A woman couldn’t make it on her own. Hell, I could find her a real nice replacement. Or I could be the replacement. Depends on what she looks like.”

Brock’s blood boiled in his veins.

“I could just send her back home today,” he hissed, spitting the words like water in a hot pan.

“You wouldn’t. You asked her for a reason. You’re lonely. You’re used to havin’ more people around, ain’t ya?”

“If it’d save her, I’d send her back in a heartbeat.”

“You do that. And I’ll burn this town to ashes and build something in my image in the carnage. And I can’t say if her return coach’d be in the line of my men. It might be.”

“My answer ain’t gonna change, no matter what you threaten.”

“I sure hope your wife likes the taste of Hydra, then…” Rollins countered. “I’ll be back in a while, anyway. Give you a good n’ long time to think it over, Sheriff.”

Rollins turned to leave, leaving Brock fuming in his wake as he disappeared into the clearing once more. 

Brock swore loudly, kicking up a dead log and scaring Whisper, who backed up slightly.

“I’m sorry, Girl…” He immediately calmed down, his mind racing. He’d almost made up his mind to send Darcy back where she came from, sight unseen.

But Rollins had just as much promised to hunt down her stagecoach if he did that.

Plus, he wouldn’t be able to arrange transportation before tomorrow. That’d leave her having to bunk down in Serpent Flats for the night. She’d be as good as ruined going back jilted.

“Damn,” he hissed into the empty air. He had no choice but to marry her now. Bring her more trouble than he was worth. “Damn, damn, damn.”

He mounted Whisper again for the slow ride back into town.

He’d been halfway looking forward to the wedding, but now? Now, he just wanted it to be over.

When Serpent Flat’s silhouette appeared, his stomach started rolling. She’d be in the church by now. Waiting for him to show up.

He cursed Rollins in that moment. He shouldn't be worrying about the future of a town. He should be worrying about meeting his wife-to-be.

She’d seemed nice enough in her letters. She asked the right questions. What was the town like? The house?  She didn’t talk much about her life in Virginia, but he supposed that was fine. She was leaving it behind.

To come to live here and marry him.

Her old life must not have been all that wonderful, if she was comin’ here, honestly.

Whisper had calmed back down on the way back to the town.  She’d been good today, she deserved a treat. He figured he’d leave her for a brush down at the livery stable. The man who ran the place should have time since he didn’t have anything to do with the church when it wasn’t Sunday morning.

Tony was his name. His father ran the general store, but he seemed happy tinkering with plows and bridles. Taking care of the horses. Smart-mouthing anyone who’d listen. Since he was so useful, he wasn’t ever judged for not heading down the road to the church every time the rest of the townsfolk did

These farmers kept him plenty busy, Brock supposed. 

He slowed down outside the livery stable, ringing the bell and nodding to Howard before dismounting Whisper. “Hey there, Tony.”

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” the man replied, wiping the grease from his hands. “You’re running late for something, ain’t ya?”

“Just a little,” Brock replied, smirking. “Had to take Whisper out for a ride and she got all dusty… You think could get her cleaned up for me?”

“Whisper likes riding out there in the woods, does she? I wouldn’t take a horse out there if ya paid me. Which you don’t.But then again, I reckon you didn’t come for opinions, did ya?” 

Brock chuckled and shook his head. “Not really, no..”

“I’ll clean the horse up for ya. Can’t have that new wife of yours riding a dusty horse. I saw her, you know?  Walking towards the church with Natasha,” he said, sniffing. “Gotta say. She looks like a greener, Rumlow.”

“How so?” Brock knew she was from back east, but he hadn’t even so much as get a look at her yet.

Tony clicked his tongue. “Looks like a right lady. In her finest travel clothes. Maybe like she doesn’t belong out here?”

“She’s here, now,” Brock replied. “She’ll belong soon enough.”

The other man chuckled. “If you say so, sheriff. She’s nice enough, though. Her head’ll fit through the door.”

“Good to know,” he replied, moseying off towards the church himself. “You don’t mind tying her up outside the church when you’re through?.”

“She’ll be ready for ya.”

Brock made his way down the dirt road, admiring the way the town had cleaned itself up. It might not look that way to someone who wasn’t used to the place but it was clean. Everyone had been waiting for this day for a long time now.

He approached the church, taking in the small crowd outside. He spotted Natasha, standing over to one side with a woman in a hat. She was wearing a gray travel suit. Bustle and everything. She was the only person here he didn’t recognize.

He could see what the younger Stark was talking about. She stuck out like a sore thumb. The travel suit looked nicer than anything he’d seen in a long while. Not to mention how clean and crisp she looked.  And none of the women bothered with fancy hats out here. They wore bonnets to keep the sun out of their eyes, sure. But nothing fancy and pinned to the top of their head that served no other purpose than to look nice. 

She’d be dusty to match soon enough. This territory had a way of doing that to ya.

He nodded to Natasha, who briefly touched Darcy’s arm.

The woman at her side turned round to face him and Brock flat out stopped walking.

Pale, but rosy skin stood out against dark brown curls, all pulled back from her face. Dark blue eyes ringed with long lashes, batted meekly at him. Plump red lips pursed.

Oh, Tony Stark was right. She was definitely a greener.

But she was also gorgeous.

Goddamn.

He kicked his feet into motion, causing some of the ladies to titter. He didn’t care. He’d been starstruck. He didn’t see a face like that often.

He gulped, running his hand over his smooth face as he approached the pair. “Hello there, Natasha. And Ms. Lewis, I presume? Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He nodded his head briefly, noting how Ms. Lewis dipped down in a bow as well.

“Sheriff,” she said primly. “I’m Darcy Lewis.”

“Brock Rumlow.”

“I’m gonna go claim a pew,” Natasha said slowly, a tinge of amusement in her voice, as she excused herself.

Darcy licked those red lips, parted them for a moment before closing them again. There was a rather long and awkward pause before the crowd started shuffling towards the church.“I think they’re expecting us.”

He grunted in reply but offered his arm. He felt too tall and clunky, walking beside this lady, with her gloved hand gripping the crook of his elbow like she was going to fall.

The crowd eventually dispersed into the church, with neither of them speaking a word in the meantime.

“Shall we?” he asked.

She nodded tersely. “Yes. Let’s.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a Darcy chapter! And a LONG one at that! <3 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Shivaree](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charivari#North_America)

**Darcy**

* * *

 

Darcy’s back grew tired from sitting in the straight-backed wooden chair in the tiny sheriff’s office, but she wouldn’t have moved for anything. 

“Oh, you’re lucky we’ve got a spell to sit,” Natasha said with a short laugh.

Lucky indeed.

“First things first,” the deputy began. “That mutt’s got a helluva bark,  _ and _ a helluva bite, if you get on the wrong side of him.”

Darcy was surprised. She was expecting a more predictable ending to the platitude, but that wasn’t what she got. “Oh, he does?”

The other woman nodded, pushing her hat back further on her head as she extended one long leg to rest on the edge of the table. “Don’t expect you’ll ever get on his wrong side, though.”

“I might. On accident…” Darcy said without thinking.  Maybe it was the long trip that had taken away her ability to think things internally because she sure as hell didn’t want those words out in the world.

“No, no,” Natasha shook her head. “You ain’t got a thing to worry about on that front.”

“You don’t know,” Darcy retorted. “He’s never even met me. I may not be his type. It’s a gamble, marrying someone you don’t know. Maybe he lost.”

The other woman grimaced and shook her head. “I’ve worked with him a long time. You’re a pretty one. The sheriff is partial to pretty ones. And you’ve got no devious intentions.”

“You just met me. I might.”

“Nah, I’m an excellent judge of character,” Natasha said with a wink. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

So it appeared that Sheriff Rumlow trusted his deputy. Not surprising, given Natasha’s station here in this town, but it definitely explained the niggling question in the back of Darcy’s mind, which was exactly  _ what _ their relationship was. She was ashamed to even deign to think it might have been more than what it was. Her first impression of Natasha had been correct.

“If you were crooked, I’d know.” Natasha’s gaze leveled on Darcy’s, her fiery green eyes narrowing in a way that completely changed the tone of their conversation. Darcy felt like she was on display in front of the woman. Like all her laundry was out flapping in the breeze and everything she’d done was printed in a book that Natasha Romanov was now skimming.

“Would you?” Darcy asked.

“Oh yeah, I’d know.  And I’d tell Rumlow too. I don’t hide anything from him. But, you seem like good people. Little polished, but I think you’ll rough up with time.”

“So what you’re saying is, he’s… he’s unfriendly.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’d say he’s… prickly. Sharp-edged.. I actually hate to admit it, but I honestly don’t know if you’ll ever get that soft part of marriage they say grows with the years. Not from Brock. He’s got lots of irons in the fire. You’re just one of them.”

“So what  _ are _ you saying?” Darcy asked, her brow knitting. “That he won’t love me?”

“No, I ain’t saying that. I’m saying… it won’t be what you’re expecting. Whatever you’re expecting. It won’t be that.”

“As long as we’re comfortable.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line and she shrugged. “Maybe you will be.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?”

She snickered. “Why? Are you scared?”

“No,” Darcy said firmly. “I’m not scared of you, or of him.”

“Look, I ain’t an oracle. I can’t read your future, Miss Lewis. I’m just telling you… I’d hate for you to have expectations he couldn’t meet. You seem like a nice girl. And that man’s my best friend. I’d hate for either of you to be unhappy.”

“I exchanged two letters with the man,” Darcy said, straightening her back to sit primly in the chair. “I didn’t come out here because he spoke pretty words. I came here because…” she paused. She hadn’t really ever admitted it out loud before.  “I came here because I couldn’t stand the thought of growing old, fat, and bored like my mother. My father’s a good man, but nothing ever happens in that house. The most exciting thing was one time, a wasp made a nest in the attic.”

Natasha’s eyebrows raised.

“And gettin’ stung in my sleep wasn’t my idea of excitement.”

The other woman’s face cracked a smile. “You’re gonna have more than wasps to contend with out here.”

“I know. And I look forward to it.”

Natasha dropped the subject, whether she approved of Darcy’s admission, or if she rightly knew the conversation wasn’t going to get any further before they had to head down to the church, Darcy didn’t know. But she felt a small sense of pride when she followed Natasha out of the sheriff’s office and out onto the boardwalk again.

“Church is right down there,” Natasha told her once more, even though Darcy had pretty much memorized where everything was now. It was impossible to miss the church at the end of the road. White clapboard and windows with glass. It was the fanciest building in town.

 

* * *

 

They were standing outside, in the churchyard, and all the town’s wives seemed to be gathering around her. Touching her dress. Complimenting her on it. And her hat. She was the only woman wearing a hat like this. That fact was very clear.

Natasha was standing nearby, saving her from long conversations with some of her terse replies. Which seemed to garner laughter more than anger, which was a good thing, Darcy assumed. The deputy seemed well-liked by the townspeople.

There were about a dozen families or so, she thought. But names fell through her memory like water through a sieve, so she couldn’t be entirely sure yet.

The ladies were excited to meet her, but talk soon devolved into cooking, gardening, the chickens. All things Darcy knew of in theory but had never really had the chance to practice much.

Other than cooking. She’d spent some time in the kitchen back home to learn some basics. She wasn’t so naive as to think the responsibility would fall to someone else.

Chickens and gardening were two topics she assumed she’d pick up quickly. She’d watched her mother tend the roses, after all.  And chickens practically took care of themselves, right?

The nervous feeling escalated the longer she waited in the churchyard for her betrothed.

She’d been worrying about the move. About not knowing anyone. She hadn’t thought to be worried about how to keep up a house.

Luckily, she didn’t have long for those worries to spiral, because soon, Natasha nudged her arm, nodding off towards the gate, and Darcy’s mind sort of clicked off when she saw who was standing there in the afternoon sun, adjusting his hat and his jacket.

A man, tall, she guessed, if his head’s proximity to the top of the gate was any indication. He was dressed head to toe in dark blue, with brown leather boots, a gun holster around his hips, and a brown hat on his head. 

He had a cleanly shaved face and dark hair. The silver star pinned to his shirt identified him as a lawman. And his gait indicated that he’d spent more time on a horse than chasing down lawbreakers.

He smiled nervously as he looked down at the ground, nodding to some of the townsfolk who greeted him. Well, it was almost a smile. It crinkled up his face in a way that felt unnatural, but he attempted it all the same.

When he drew closer, Darcy could actually see he was tall. Very tall. A head and a half taller than she was, at any rate. 

And as he got closer, Darcy found she couldn’t quite make her voice happen. She just opened and closed her mouth a few times, feeling like a fish.

In her defense, he seemed to have been awestruck as well, freezing in place when their eyes met.

He appeared to kick himself into order, though, continuing his walk across the churchyard towards her and his deputy. He addressed the latter first, before turning all his attention to Darcy. “Hello there, Natasha. And Ms. Lewis, I presume? Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

Darcy liked it.

“Sheriff. I’m Darcy Lewis.” She bounced a little in greeting. Not even a half-curtsey, more of a quarter.

“Brock Rumlow,” he answered.

Natasha’s voice piped up, and Darcy could detect a bit of mischief in her tone. “I’m gonna go grab a pew.” She retreated soon after, leaving the two of them alone.

Darcy licked her lips, suddenly dry as she struggled for something else to say.  Everyone around them had seemed to move on into the church, so there was really only one thing for them to do now. “I think they’re expecting us.”

He offered his arm, and Darcy took it, practically hanging off him, she was so nervous.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Let’s.”

 

* * *

 

The wedding ceremony went quickly, of course, Darcy hadn’t been to any weddings in the new territories, so the only things she had to go off of were the bigger affairs back east. For all she knew, their ceremony  _ was _ long and drawn out.

But regardless, Darcy was surprised because before she knew it, Mr. Rumlow was kissing her.

She’d never been kissed by anyone, save her mother and father before. There had been no sweethearts back home.

She supposed, by outward accounts, the kiss was chaste. Just a small press of his lips to hers, but it was her first one, so she attempted to memorize every part.

Despite his obviously clean-shaven face, she still felt the rasp of stubble against the smooth skin of her lips. His own were chapped, something he attempted to remedy by licking them beforehand.

He placed both hands at her waist, tugging her stiff body towards him so he could reach her better. Like she’d said before, he was tall, so it felt as if he had to bend forward over her to reach her mouth, a gesture that made her feel as if he were stepping into her skin for a moment.

He smelled of leather and sweat, with an underlying scent of soap. A combination she found rather fetching if she was being honest.

It was a moment she’d been waiting for, but at the same time, she had no clue what to expect. She’d assumed the kiss would happen, and the ceremony would end, and she’d be on her way to married life.To her embarrassment and utter surprise, she wasn’t so keen to end the kiss, drawing a whisper from the congregation when she started to follow Brock as he leaned back to end the embrace. The scratch of his rough skin over hers was something she was loathe to end. Whether he noticed or not, he provided a cover for her, tightening his hold on her waist as she stumbled toward him “Sorry about that, I’ll bet your dead on your feet, darlin’.”

He offered her his arm once more and the congregation laughed, a wave of calm swept over the crowd. He raised his opposite hand in the air.

“Now I know everyone’s hankerin’ to get home…” he began.

“We know  _ you _ are,” someone teased, which got a lot of laughter and made Darcy’s cheeks redden.

“Now, now…” Brock shushed the crowd with a wave of the hand in the air. The way he laughed sounded forced, but what wasn’t forced was the respect everyone in that church had for him.

It almost made Darcy’s chest swell with pride to see it. To see him joke and laugh with the townspeople, to escort her from the room on his arm and out to where a horse was awaiting them.

“Here’s Whisper,” said the man holding the horse’s reins. “Got her all clean for y’all.”

Darcy took in the brown horse. Shiny coat with a white star on her forehead.  She wasn’t hitched to anything, which meant--

“I’ll help you up,” Brock said, extending his hand and slipping the other around her waist. Darcy hadn’t ever ridden a horse that wasn’t sidesaddle, but she assumed she’d have to now.  It was an awkward pause before she put her foot in the saddle stirrup and felt Brock easily hoist her up.

Her skirts were in the way, and everyone in the damn town could see the lace trim on her bloomers and stockings.

She quickly fixed the state of her dress as Brock hoisted himself up behind her, snug against her back, despite her bustle, his arm wrapped protectively around her, settling on her belly as he took up the reins with the other.

He shook them and everyone cheered as they rode away down the road.

There was a slight trail on the ground, and Brock seemed to know where he was going as the sunset and the town grew smaller behind them.

He turned off to one side, galloping over a ridge when the house came into view.  It was getting dark, and the sun was behind them, so it looked little more than a shadow as they approached it.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t say a word as he dismounted and reached up for her.

“My things,” Darcy burst out. They were back at the sheriff’s office, locked in a cell.

“They’re here,” he replied. “Had them brought down during the wedding.”

The wedding. Even though it had just happened, it seemed so long ago. 

That’s right. She was married now. Married to this man.

Darcy swallowed thickly, pressing both lips together as Brock led Whisper over to the barn. He returned momentarily, amid a frantic moo from behind him. “I gotta go back and milk that cow, figured I’d give you a break since you were travelin’ today” he gestured to the porch. “You want me to show you around, or can you figure it out yourself?”

Darcy frowned. “I thought… you were supposed to… carry me over the threshold?”

He sighed, swearing softly and reaching up to scratch his forehead under his hat. “Right, right…” She almost told him not to bother. She could enter a home and figure it out for herself. She remembered Natasha’s warning that her marriage might not be what she expected, and she supposed that maybe this was the first inkling of that. 

Her husband had said nary a word to her, except something about milking the cow for her tonight. Another worry she’d file away for later. She’d never so much as fed the cows her family owned. That’s what the stable hands were for. But of course, it’d be her job now. Everything was her job now. She was married to the sheriff.

But before she could protest, Brock had taken a few smooth steps forward, bending at the waist before hoisting her up effortlessly in his arms. She gasped, her hands wrapping around his broad shoulders and hanging on for dear life as he walked toward the door. He shifted her in his hold so he could reach and undo the latch.  He repositioned his arms and kicked the wooden door open with his foot, carrying Darcy over the threshold and setting her down on the floor inside.

Her insides felt funny. Wiggly and too hot. She reached up to grasp the collar of her travel suit, pulling it away from her throat so she could breathe.

It didn’t help. Her husband’s close proximity seemed to make it worse. Her breath caught in her throat as he strolled past her into the darkness, his scent wafting over her as he moved.  

“Matches are over here,” he said, grabbing the box off the top of the stove and handing them to her. He grabbed a milk bucket from the hook by the door and lingered just inside for a moment. “I’ll be about twenty minutes if you wanna build a fire and light the lamp.”

Build a fire. Light the lamp. Whatever warmth had been growing in the depths of her belly seemed to fizzle out, leaving an icy cold panic in its wake.

Of course.

The lamp, she could do. Just fine.

But she’d never built a fire before in her life. She’d started one, but that wasn’t the same. That was a broken lantern and her momma’s old curtains. This was… this was on purpose and necessary and--. 

Her father had hired men and women who did things such as filling her tub and lighting fires.

Why hadn’t she asked to learn before she left home? It would have been so easy to learn while she was learning the basics of cooking.

Regardless of the panic swelling in her bosom, Darcy nodded weakly and Brock left.

First things first. She’d light the lamp. It was something she could actually do. It might boost her confidence a little.

She found the lantern on top of the stove and struck a match on the surface of the stove. She lit the wick inside and shook the match out again, adjusting the flame until it lit up the room in a dancing yellow light. 

There was a pile of logs in the corner, and she brought a few over, hoisting them up into the stove and piling them inside. That was the extent of her fire knowledge, and she wasn’t even sure it was correct.

She removed her gloves because things were sooty inside the stove, and lugging the logs over had resulted in tiny splinters sticking in the fabric.  After that, she stopped because she had no clue what to do next. She didn’t want to waste the matches by trying to light logs. But then again she didn’t know any other way to do it.

She stepped back with her hands on her hips, slightly bent forward, peering into the stove, which was how Brock found her soon after when he came back in from milking with a full bucket.

“You magic or something?” he asked, laughing a little. “You gonna set fire to it with your eyes? Because that’d be a trick.” He removed his hat, then. Hanging it on a hook that was screwed into the wall near the door. His hair was darker than she’d realized. Thicker too. He ran his hand through it to get rid of the ridges the hat left.

She was disappointed in herself. Staring at her husband instead of trying to miraculously figure out how to complete this impossible task.

Darcy pressed her lips together and shook her head, embarrassed by the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes. “I don’t know how to light it.”

“What?” he looked at her funny like she’d just spoken another language or something.

“I don’t know how to light it,” she said, folding her arms over her middle and pinching her side to keep from crying.

“How do you not know how to light a damn fire?” he asked, setting the bucket of milk on the table with a clang.

She shrugged. “Someone always did it for me.”

“Well, someone ain’t gonna do it for you here…” he said, contradicting himself not two seconds later by reaching out and taking the matches from her. He opened a small box by the side of the stove. “This here’s the kindling box. You gotta put some inside…” He sighed heavily at the three logs sitting there.

He hoisted them out of the stove and replaced them with little bits of twigs and leaves, building a bed around the bottom of the fireplace. Which he then lit.

She watched him blow on the flame until it overtook the pile of kindling.

“You gotta add the logs slowly. Or they’ll snuff it out. One at a time, till you have what you need in there.”

She watched him slowly slide the log inside and catch fire. And add one or two more.

“That’s how you do it,” he said, shutting the door with a clang. “I suggest you figure it out for yourself, sweetheart.”

“There’s no need to be like that,” Darcy muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Ain’t no need to be like that. You’re the one who asked me out here.”

He snorted derisively. “I didn’t know I was getting a greenhorn rich girl who didn’t know a kindling box from her rear end!”

“Well, you did. And you married me, so you’re stuck now, Mr. Rumlow.”

His dark eyes flashed as he took a step closer. “So’re you, Missus.”

She frowned.

“I know damn well I ain’t what you were expecting neither. I can tell by the way you’re looking at this house. The way you looked at me when you first saw me. But we’re in this now, sweet pea.”

He didn’t know her well enough to know what her looks meant. That much was obvious as Darcy bit her lip and turned away from him. He’d blush if he knew what she was thinking the first time she saw him.

She was living with a man thousands of miles from her parents. A man who didn’t know a damn thing about her. She’d never missed her mother nearly as much as she was right now. And there was no going back. No backing down from this. She was stuck here with a man who woefully misunderstood her and on top of that, made fun of her for not knowing how to do something no one ever bothered to teach.

Darcy was too mad to answer him. To even look at her husband as she walked away from him and towards one of the doors off the kitchen. She opened it up to a bedroom. A fresh mattress on the bed. Two down pillows. No linens at all. Had he just been sleeping on a bare mattress or were there sheets somewhere that she just didn’t know about?

It didn’t matter. Like hell she was going to ask that man anything else. She’d figure it out on her own.

Her trunk was beside the bed and so she went towards it, ready to prove to him she could do something. Ready to prove it to herself.

“Sorry I ain’t got no hired hands to come make up the bed for you,” he joked from the door.

“I can do that myself,” she spat, reaching inside the trunk for a set of embroidered sheets and pillowcases. She was rightly proud of the embroidery too. She’d done  _ that _ herself, too.

She took the sheet and spread it out over the bed, tucking it in around the blanket before setting the cases on the pillows.

The quilt came out next. One she’d made from scraps of dresses that no longer fit. 

She got the thing tucked around the mattress and stood back to admire it, casting her eye to the doorframe to see if her husband had seen, but having to be content with disappointment because he was gone. She shut the trunk and ventured out into the main room of the house.

He was peering out the window, eyebrows lowered as he stared into the darkness. Her previous anger dissipated. “What is it?” she asked, suddenly worried. 

“I dunno…” He held his hand back. “Stay back from the window. Go back to the bedroom.”

Darcy stayed put. If something was going to kill her on her first night here, then she certainly wasn’t going to hide from it.

He’d no sooner taken a step through the door when he suddenly jumped a mile as a purely unholy racket pierced the dark silence..

She heard Whisper rear up and whinny in the pasture near the house. Her hooves pounded on the ground and Brock’s look of fear melted into one of mirth., Confused, Darcy walked to the doorway to peer out herself

People began to emerge from the darkness with pots and pans, beating them with spoons and yelling up a storm. A few in the distance had torches.

Brock’s face broke into a smile as he started laughing.

Darcy tucked herself behind the doorframe, still unsure. She frowned as people crowded the porch, pushing Brock back inside with the sheer number of them. These were people she now recognized from the wedding. She took a step back, her hands reaching out for Brock as he backed into her. The people were coming into the house.

Why were they inside the house?

A group of men soon scooped Darcy up in their arms, carrying her outside while the women still screamed and beat the pots right in her ear.  They had Brock too, carrying him right behind her as they walked out into the yard and up over the hill in front of their house. Down the other side.

Brock didn’t seem worried, but she couldn’t help the ball of anxiety that was hardening in her belly, icy cold and foreboding. She didn’t know any of these people from Adam. Not even Brock.

They carried them the opposite way from whence they’d come, out into the pasture while Whisper neighed and the cow mooed in the barn. Through the gate and out into the darkened field.

She swallowed back her fear when they finally came to a halt. They put her down.

Or throw her, rather.

Right into a lake. A lake she didn’t have any clue was there until she hit the water.

Gasping for breath, her skirt weighed her down until her rear end hit the bottom. So it was a shallow lake. A pond, more like. It made sense. It was probably the cow’s watering hole.

But regardless of the depth, when she stood up, her boots sank in the mud and she coughed, sputtered on the water. 

Brock sputtering too, but he made no move to help her. No move to keep her from sinking in the mud and the darkness.

She scrambled for shore, coughing and feeling like a drowned rat. She hadn’t even taken off her hat!

Brock crawled out of the water beside her, laughing a little as he turned to look at her.  She glared back at him and got to her feet as fast as she could. It was obvious that this was some sort of joke to them. Some tradition she wasn’t privy to. It didn’t help her feel any less alien around these people.

His hand appeared on her arm then. “You alright, dear? You ain’t sore about a little shivaree, are you?”

She exhaled thickly and nodded, not wanting to break down in front of all these people. “Of course not. I’m just fine and dandy.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were heavy on his, and it gave him pause. Made him blink a few times at her, lowering those dark brows of his as he considered her.

“All the same, I think I should carry you home, honey.”

Darcy’s eyes widened in surprise as she slipped in what she preferred to think was mud. She didn’t fall, though. Brock caught her.

Everyone laughed and clapped as Rumlow scooped his bride up and carried her up the hill. He didn’t carry her like he had over the threshold, though. No, he picked her up like a sack of grain and tossed her over his shoulder, one arm wound around her knees to keep her where she was. 

Darcy took a deep breath and tried not to think about his other hand on her muddy rear end as they went back to the house.

He plopped her down on the porch, dripping wet and hopping mad. “You look lovely in the moonlight.”

Her chin quivered as she stood there before him. “Do I? Better get a good look, then. You’ll need it for your dreams.” Her voice was hushed. Hissed in his direction as he chuckled infuriatingly.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, hauling her close. “I got a very good look, Darcy. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She held fast to his shoulders so she didn’t fall down on the porch in front of everyone. His face was so close, his breath was huffing over her face. He smelled of tobacco and something else she couldn’t define. Likely something he’d eaten at the church.

“Kiss her!” someone yelled from the crowd. 

Darcy’s eyes widened in surprise as he dipped her backward, one arm sliding up her soaking dress back to center between her shoulder blades. He lowered his lips to hers and her traitorous mouth melded easily. A soft moan escaped when he deepened the kiss. She linked both arms behind his head and tried to keep up, tried not to embarrass herself with her inexperience on top of everything else.

Everyone cheered and when he stood her up, she stumbled a little, reaching out for his arm to support herself.

The shivaree (that’s what it was called) broke up soon after that and everyone went home, leaving their gifts on the porch.  A few bags of grain. A crock of soap. Seeds. Loaves of bread. Some bread starter that smelled suspect. Salted meat and fish.

A large pot with a lid and a cast iron pan.

Most notably, three tiny piglets in a hand-woven basket. They squealed and cooed when Darcy opened it, surprised not to see more preserves or salt pork. She immediately shut the basket and stood, waiting as Brock waved to everyone from the front porch.

She hadn’t spoken much to any of the attempts at small talk, but likewise, none of the women seemed too upset about it. In fact, a few of them simply patted her on the shoulder in a frustratingly knowing way that only made her more upset.

He returned inside, dripping mud and water on the floor as Darcy pointed to the basket. “Piglets,” she said, waving her hand and turning back to the bedroom.

Brock dealt with the basket as Darcy stomped wetly to the safety of the bedroom. She peeled off the layers of her best clothing, now muddied and soaked. She belatedly remembered her hat, in which she found a  _ frog _ before placing it upon the tiny chest of drawers that sat on the opposite wall as the bed.

She was plumb tired out. She’d attempt to save her dress tomorrow. It needed soap and a washboard and more energy than she had right now. Likewise, all the other things she wore.

She took them off in a wet pile before changing into one of the long nightgowns she had in her trunk.  She took the hat box over to the chest of drawers and was rummaging around inside for a hairbrush when the door to the bedroom opened.

Without thinking, Darcy reached inside the hat box and pulled out her gun. Pearl handled and unloaded, but she wasn’t really paying that much mind.

She was shaking, holding the gun out in front of her as her soaking wet husband blinked and stared down the end of it. He raised both hands in the air in front of him.

Taking a gulp of air, she dropped her hands, placing the gun back in the hat box and bursting into tears. Tears that had been a long time coming.

She heard Brock moving. Heard him removing his wet clothes and pulling on something else, but she didn’t look up. She just sobbed into her hands.

He took a few tentative steps towards her, but thought better of it, leaving the room and closing the door softly behind him. 

When she looked up, both he and all their wet clothes were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooops, I forgot to post this yesterday, so so sorry!
> 
> My son's birthday party was yesterday, so I was up to my elbows in homemade pizza dough and lime green buttercream.
> 
> Enjoy Chapter 4! It's another long one to make up for it being a day late! Also a Brock chapter!

**Brock**

* * *

 

He slept out in the main room of the cabin. On the floor. Now, he’d slept a lot of places. Most notably in the chairs up at the station, and even on the ground a time or two in his day. But he was well past his day and this was ridiculously uncomfortable.

He would have scooted two chairs together if their soaking wet Sunday best hadn’t been draped over them.  Those clothes desperately needed washing, but hell if he had time for that. He just hoped she’d know what to do.

He probably shouldn’t have even been doing anything with her things at all, but she’d looked so sad the night before. The pile of her soaked through best and her mess of wet curls sticking to her cheeks and neck. He’d wanted to do something for her.

He’d been scared at first when she’d pulled that gun, but any fool worth his salt could tell it wasn’t loaded, that he’d spooked an already spooked woman in a new place. He was sort of taken aback by her reaction. But he’d read it all there in her eyes. She’d been traveling for more than a week. She’d just met him that day. They’d gotten married. He’d yelled at her, and then they got thrown in a lake. 

She cried herself to sleep. He’d heard her. 

Heard her sob like her heart was breaking

Probably not anywhere near the idea of marriage she’d had in her head.

His chest had ached when she’d crumpled into a ball in the chair, sobbing into her hands. Shoulders shaking.

If he'd had half a mind, he would have stayed and made it right. Unfortunately, more than half of his mind was occupied by Rollins and the Hydra gang. And that wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t  _ his _ either, but here he was.

Brock’s heart ached a little the more he thought about it. He’d hesitated in the bedroom. Too long to comfort her, but still unsure of what to do. He’d just decided not to engage her anymore. They had plenty of time for talking and platitudes. He figured that she likely wanted to be left alone, which was the wrong way to read her. He’d heard how wrong it was with every ragged sob.

He’d been so disappointed that she couldn’t start a fire, and that was basically the last thing he’d said to her before the shivaree happened. A shivaree she wasn’t expecting, by the looks of things.

And then he’d kissed her like… like he had? In front of all those people? Kissed her like he thought she wanted it? Even if she had hugged his neck and clung to him… it wasn’t appropriate.

True, she was his wife and that sort of thing was expected of them, but at the same time, something told him he needed to pull the hell back. Go as slow as he could because she was double spooked now.

Which was what led him to his current predicament. His back twinged a little and he rolled to his side, grunting at the same time. He’d been so tired the night before, he figured it wouldn’t matter where he slept.

Boy, was he wrong.

Brock groaned and covered his eyes with one hand, hoping he could maybe block out the sun and catch a little more sleep. Anything would be better than having to get up and face the day with a back that ached like his was right now. A backache that was one hundred percent his own fault.

He was getting to be too old for sleepin’ on the floor. That much was clear. His whole upper body hurt something fierce and all through the night, he’d kept tossing and turning, having to remind himself of why he was out on the hard, cold floor and not in his cozy bed. The new bed he’d hewn and crafted on his own. The new mattress stuffed with straw and the two new down pillows he’d mail-ordered months ago.

He hadn’t even gotten to sleep in it yet. He could have, but he didn’t want the mattress to get worn down all funny until his wife to be had arrived.

Well, she’d arrived. His wife was in there. Taking up that entire bed on her own.

Despite his smarting back and current predicament, a chuckle bubbled up into the room.

Maybe he outta go grab that old bed frame from the barn loft. Restuff the mattress and set it up in the spare room.  Wouldn’t be remiss, considering the state of things.

A big pile of idiot was what he was. He’d go limping into work today and Natasha would tease him. Tell him not to go punching above his weight. Acting younger than his age. She and everyone else would assume he and Darcy had their wedding night.

And the whole time, it was because his wife had pulled a gun on him. And he’d slept on the floor, listening to her crying.

Come to think of it, if it wasn’t a marital issue, Natasha would likely be tickled pink to find out his wife was packing firepower in that tiny little frame of hers. Knew how to shoot it too, even if it wasn’t loaded.

The sun was bright beyond his eyelids and he knew he wasn’t going to do anything but lay here wide awake on the hard floor anyway.

Unable to fall back asleep, he rose to spite the sun, stumbling over to the kitchen table and slicing off a heel from one of the two loaves of bread they’d been gifted. There were at least a dozen jars of preserves, and he happily cracked one open. He could tell by the seeds that it was wild raspberry. It wasn’t much of a breakfast, but he wanted to be gone before Darcy woke up. Anything to keep her from bursting into tears at the sight of him. 

Time apart might do them some good. He wasn’t an expert at this marriage thing, but he considered it a bad sign that she’d threatened him with a gun and then sobbed herself to sleep.

There were many things Brock Rumlow was skilled at, but speaking with an angry woman wasn’t one of them. Even if he was slightly moved by her display the night before, didn’t mean he wanted hot lead embedded anywhere in his body as a result.

As he meandered around the quiet house, he thought of a billion things to ask his wife. Such as did she know how to make bread? Did she know how to wash clothing? Did she know how to do anything at all? But he figured those questions could wait. At least until she’d calmed down enough to not shoot him for asking.

He should have asked beforehand. Should have sent more letters. Although he wasn’t sure that it would have kept him from marrying her. It was all stuff that she could learn. All stuff he’d been doing for himself up until now, so even if it was unbelievable that she couldn’t do it, it wasn’t likely they’d die or starve in the interim. Plus, it wasn’t like he had any other responses. No other bites.

Brock ate the bread quickly, grabbing the clean bucket to take out with him to the barn to milk Bessie. He’d milked her last night, but she needed it twice a day. And judging by the fact that Darcy couldn’t even light a fire, he was content to take care of the cow for a bit.

He gave a scoop of grain to Whisper, who was kicking it up in the barnyard.  The chickens clucked and crowded around his feet as he walked out past them.

“Yeah yeah… you ladies’ll have to forage for a few more days. There’s plenty of brush out there in the yard,” he assured them to no avail. They still clucked like there was some kinda big conspiracy.

The new piglets were safely in one of the barn stalls, snorting and mucking around in the dirt. He didn’t have any scraps to give them, but they’d have something tonight. In the meantime, he dumped a little grain into the feed trough. 

He was about fifteen minutes into milking when he realized he hadn’t done anything to the fire in the woodstove. It had been a bit chilly, and he hadn’t even stoked the cinders. Grumbling to himself, he figured he’d start it up again before he left. No reason to leave his wife in a cold house this morning.

He finished milking Bessie and led her out to the pasture gate so she could spend the day grazing, whistling as he made his way back to the kitchen.

To his surprise, the fire was still stoked. Still burning. It was odd because he could have sworn it was out when he’d risen that morning. But then again, he hadn’t been paying a lot of attention.

He poured the milk off into one of the crocks in the kitchen, taking a bit for himself to drink before he left. He wondered if Darcy knew how to churn it. He had something of an idea and a butter churn in the corner. Maybe he’d talk to her about it later on.

There was coffee in a tin on the shelf, but there was also some up at the station too, so he’d just as soon make it there.

Before he left, he scattered some grain for the chickens. Likely spoiling them, but he had grain coming out of his ears. It wouldn’t break him to give a little until they started laying. No eggs yet, but he wasn’t surprised, they were still small.

He took another look around the small homestead. There was a lot of unused land that he had plans for at one time. But until those Hydra goons moved on out, he wasn’t going to have time to do much of anything with it.

He noted some movement within the house, it caused a rush of panic to wash over him. A rolling ball of nerves in his gut. He couldn’t get to work quick enough.

With that, he went to fetch Whisper, climbing onto her back and riding off before Darcy could come out and speak to him.. 

* * *

 

He arrived bright and early to the sheriff’s station, surprised to see Natasha already. She usually didn’t come in until long after breakfast time.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asked.

“I might ask you the same thing, Newlywed,” she replied with a smirk.

“Crime ain’t gonna take no honeymoon,” he answered. “And neither is your smart mouth.”

Natasha chuckled. “Still, thought you’d at least take the morning with your bride… you just leave her there? Does she know what she’s supposed to do?”

Sighing heavily, Brock shrugged his shoulders. He plopped down on the chair by the table. “I dunno, honestly. I had to teach her how to build a fire last night, so…”

Natasha’s eyebrows went up. “Really.”

He didn't respond, just grabbed a kettle and walked it out to the pump outside. He filled it, Natasha’s deadpan expression burned into his memory. “ _ Really _ .”

Like she wasn’t surprised.

He hadn’t planned for this at all. He turned, heading back inside and stomping a little too loudly on the steps to announce his presence. He dumped in a few scoops of barley and put the kettle on the woodstove and shifted his weight, waiting for the water to come to a boil.

“What’d you mean, ‘really’?” he asked suddenly, glaring over at his deputy.

“Exactly what it sounded like. You said you had to teach her to build a fire, and I said ‘really’.”

She was vexing him. She lived for it.

“ _ Really _ . And there’s the milking and chickens, piglets that someone gave to us last night, and cooking and wash… I dunno what I got myself into…”

Natasha snorted, rolling her eyes. “You coulda went over two towns over and found you a woman who knew how to do all that already. You’re the one who wanted to write out east and find you a wife that way.” Natasha retorted.  “You wanted this, deep down. You wanted to be needed. You crave it.”

“Bull,” he countered. “I wanted…”

What had he wanted? Was she right?

“I wanted a wife who wasn’t set in her ways already… I ain’t an easy man to get used to.”

“Mmm, tell me that again,” Natasha replied. “But you definitely got a wife who has no ways at all.”

She was right. Darcy didn’t have anyways. The kettle started boiling, so Brock pulled out his cup and poured some of the steaming beverage into the cup.

It tasted like death, but it woke him up. Once it was cool enough to drink, it would.

“She knows embroidery. Knitting.” he counted. “I might have to get some sheep. For wool.”

“You gonna eat some mittens, are ya?” Natasha passed him on his way to his chair, her own cup in hand.

“She’ll learn,” he countered, leaning back in the chair. “She’ll learn.”

“She’ll do just fine,” chimed a voice from the doorway.

Natasha and Brock looked up towards the door, and the latter just about fell out of his chair at the sight. 

Darcy, standing in the doorway, standing tall and wearing a dark blouse tucked into a calico skirt. She was carrying a basket. It looked like the one the piglets had arrived in, but with a different bit of linen sticking out of the top. 

“Well, hello, Darcy,” Natasha said with a grin, she cast her gaze back and forth between her and Brock. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you, Natasha,” Darcy replied, smoothing her hand down the front of her skirt. “I came to ask after the washboard.” She turned to Brock at that. “I need it to wash our clothes and I couldn’t find it in the house. Is it out in the barn, maybe?

He swallowed thickly and nodded back behind him. “It’s here.”

She frowned. “What for?”

“It’s where I do my laundry.”

“Well, it isn’t anymore,” she said. “Can I have it or do you need it for sheriffing?”

He scrambled to get up out of his chair, nearly overturning it in the process.

Natasha chuckled and Brock’s cheeks blazed red as he went to fetch the washboard from behind the door.  He handed it to Darcy, who tucked it under her arm. 

“Thanks,” she replied, holding out her hand once again. “I’d like some money.”

He snorted. “Some  _ what _ ?”

“I aim to make you my momma’s ginger cake for dinner this evening.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I fail to see how money’s gonna help with that.” 

“I need ginger root and sugar,” she replied. 

“I don’t have money.. Just trade the milk at Stark’s General Store for what you need. You’ll get more for the butter, but you’d have to churn it.”

She frowned, obviously mentally trying to figure out how much time she had and coming up short. 

He continued, “But I wouldn’t make a habit of it. Not made of milk, honey. At some point, you’ll have to make some butter. I like it on my bread.”

She shot him a look. “I wouldn’t get used to my momma’s ginger cake either. I’m only making it in order to make up for last night.”

Natasha puffed out her cheeks, starting to rise and remove herself from the conversation.

“I pulled a gun on him,” Darcy explained quickly. “I was antsy after the being tossed fully clothed into the lake and carried back to the house, so I was hasty in pulling a gun on my husband. I apologize.”

His cheeks blazed even hotter in response to being called ‘her husband’. “It was a shivaree.”

“It was barbaric,” she countered, narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t care for it.”

“It’s a tradition,” he retorted. “Get over it. And yourself.”

Her nostrils flared and she drew herself up even higher if that was possible.

“You sure you know how to cook a cake without fire?” he asked, smirking a little at the way her mouth fell open. Like she was scandalized.

“I know how to light it now,” she retorted.

He laughed. “Oh do you? Because I recall having to show you.”

“You showed me once and now I know. I certainly kept it burning this morning, didn’t I?”

His retort died on his lips as he recalled how the fire had been blazing that morning. She must have gotten up while he was in the barn. Fiddled with the fire. If so, she must’ve timed it perfectly. Which meant she was awake when he was feeling sorry for himself that morning.

“I’m a quick learner,” she said, mirroring his smirk. “But now I must be off.”

“Take Nat with you,” he said. “Just in case there’s a problem at Stark’s.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and huffed. “I’m expecting  _ you _ home for lunch.”

Brock reached for his coffee, taking a long drink even though it was too hot. He checked to see if Darcy’d seen his mistake, but she and Natasha were already gone.  

* * *

 

Natasha didn’t return until near lunchtime, a look of amusement on her face when she entered the station.

“What happened?” Brock blurted, a bit embarrassed by how quickly he’d asked.

Natasha shook her head. “Nothing.”

He set his jaw for a moment, before answering. “It couldn’t have been nothing.”

“Well, I could tell you.  But then, I’d be breaking a promise. I don’t want to do that. I’ve got enough red in my ledger.”

“So you and Darcy are in cahoots, now?”

“Darcy and I have an understanding,” Natasha replied. “And you should really cut her some slack. She’s trying.”

She walked over to the chair opposite him and sat down. Gingerly favoring one side over the other. Which she hadn’t been that morning. Brock watched her for a long moment. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Just… slept funny.” She shrugged again and folded her hands in front of her on the table. “You’d better skedaddle if you’re going to get home in time for lunch.”

He sighed and nodded, pushing out the chair and crossing the floor to the door. “I’ll be back.”

“Try and be happy. You just got married, Brock.”

He grunted under his breath and walked out to find Whisper.

She was by the water trough, so he unhitched her and climbed on.  The ride home was uneventful, and everything looked sufficiently in order when he arrived.  He let Whisper out in the fence and gazed out over the pasture. Bessie was chewing the cud over by the small pond. The chickens were scurrying around and there was very noticeably a scuffed up patch of mud over near the barn door.  But that could have been from anything.. 

All the animals were inside, so Brock didn’t go check it out.

He went into the house, wiping his feet at the door, and opened it to the scrumptious smell of ginger, salt, and pork fat.

“Something smells good in here,” he mused as he entered the home. 

“I certainly hope so, because we’re having it for dinner too,” she replied, sliding a very unfamiliar bowl towards him. It was bone white with a floral pattern etched around the rim. “Sorry there’s no bread, I traded it. I’ll make more.”

He leaned over, smelling the contents of the bowl, which looked to be salt pork, carrots, onions, and potatoes. Apparently, she  _ could _ cook. And bake, if the promise of bread and ginger cake were any indicators.

“What did you trade it for?” he asked, about to tilt the china bowl into his mouth, but was stopped by his wife as she handed him a silver spoon, shooting a judgmental look as she did.

“Sugar and ginger,” she replied. “The milk didn’t fetch a big enough price.”

“Well, if you churn into butter, it will. Plus once those chickens start laying, you’ll have something to trade, then.”

He stirred the contents of the bowl and took a big bite, excited to have a hot meal on his stomach. That feeling was soon replaced by one of revulsion.

He almost couldn’t swallow it. He coughed, spluttering as he spat the entire contents out onto the table. It tasted of salt. And tons of it. Enough to kill a man if he ate too much.

Darcy turned, her hand coming up to her throat in the process. “What’s the matter?”

“You tryin’ to kill me, woman?” he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and pushed the bowl away. “This payback for last night?”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He raised both hands. “That. That food. It’s inedible. Did you even taste it?”

“Not yet,” she said, her voice cracking a little as she reached for the bowl. She took a spoonful, tasting it and making a face. “Oh no.”

“‘Oh no’ is right,” Brock replied, sniffing. 

“I…” she began, carrying it over to the pot once more. “I’m sorry…”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t know exactly how to. Wasn’t much way to fix too salty.

“I’ll… I’ll do better…”

“Did you soak it?” Brock asked, getting up to go get a drink of water.

“Soak it?” 

“The salt pork, did you soak it? You gotta soak it to get the salt out. It’s how they preserve it out here.”

“Shit,” she swore, surprising the hell out of him as she chucked the spoon into the dutch oven.

He raised his eyebrows. “You kiss your momma with that mouth?”

“I don’t kiss nobody with that mouth,” she snapped, glaring at him as she took the pot off the stove. “The pigs’ll eat this?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. You could try. They usually like… garbage and the like. That, they might turn their nose up at.”

“You hush, or I’ll make you eat it,” she countered, wrapping a tea towel around the handled and taking it with her out to the barn.

“You want me to do that?” he called after her.

“Nah, I’ve got it. Put your feet up.”

He waited a sufficient amount of time and walked over to the door, to peek his head out as she walked towards the barn.

She struggled with the door latch and pulling the door open, but she got it open.  He ducked back inside and went back to his chair to twiddle his thumbs until she returned.

Which she did, momentarily, after rinsing the pot out..  She set the cast iron dutch oven back on the stove top.

“Can I interest you in some oatmeal?” she asked.

“Depends,” he replied.

“On?”

“How much salt you adding? Because I’m pretty sure I got enough for today.”

She rolled her eyes, turning around to get started on the oatmeal.

He watched her work, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “You… uh… you make much oatmeal?”

She turned to glance back at him, laughing a little. “You caught me, Brock. I made it professionally. I got rid of the lumps, but it ruined my chances of learning how to cook anything else.”

“I’m just askin’,” he replied, scoffing a little. “You understand why, don’tcha?”

“I’ve never made or eaten salt pork in my life,” she stated, likely in way of explanation. “Now I know to soak it. I’m a quick learner.”

She was stirring a bubbling pot of porridge in what felt like no time at all. Brock watched her stir, eyed her up and down while her back was turned. Her waist was tucked in tight, giving her a slight curve to her figure that was very pleasing.

“I feel ya looking at me,” she said, turning to catch his gaze. Her eyes widened at what she saw there, cutting back to the pot and between the two of them as she pulled it off the stove.

She’d taken the bowl with the salty mess in it and set it aside. She gave him a clean one for the oatmeal. And she even pulled out the molasses to drizzle over the top.

“You know, come winter, we’ll have maple syrup,” he said, nodding outside. “Got maples in those woods. Just gotta tap ‘em.”

She didn’t say anything. Just sat down on the chair across from him with a sigh. She winced once she was down. Much like Natasha had.

“You feeling alright?” he asked, taking a spoonful of the just-fine oatmeal. “You and Natasha hurt yourselves?”

She shook her head. “Nothing happened.”

“Not what I asked,” he said, taking another bite.

She shot him an exasperated look. “It was nothing. There was something, but now there’s not.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. So don’t. Worry.”

He couldn’t _not_ worry about it now. His mind went back to that muddy scuff mark around by the barn door. Also how familiar his greenhorn wife was with the barn all of the sudden.

Brock dropped the subject and finished his oatmeal. He’d go check the barn later that night.

“Well. I best get goin’….”

“I’m making dinner, don’t forget” Darcy insisted. “There’s cake.”

“Gotta eat something more than cake.”

“I’m making something,” she insisted.

“ _ Okay _ ,” he said, rising to his feet.“You’re not gonna pull a gun on me when I come home this time, are you?” He wasn’t sure why he brought it up. Or why he was trying to tease her about it. Couldn’t help it.

She sighed heavily. “I was frightened. So, don’t be so frightening, just barging into rooms, and perhaps I won’t pull a gun on you again.”

He snorted. “Barging into rooms? It’s  _ my _ house. I built it. Lived here alone before you. Made that bed too.  Ain’t gotten to sleep in it. How was it?.”

“So sleep in it tonight, no one's stopping you,” she countered, deftly ignoring his question

“Your revolver stopped me last night.”

“You’re a frightening, foreboding man!”

She kept saying that. But he hadn’t given her a reason to think so. He wasn’t frightening. He was gruff. 

“Am I? Did you really marry a frightening man, or are you just frightened of what we’re to do together in that bed?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

Goddamn, if she didn’t just irritate the dickens out of him.

She was silent, opening and closing her mouth several times.

“Stop gaping like a fish, darlin’ I ain’t gonna touch you ‘less you ask me first.”

“I wouldn’t know what to ask for. Just like everything else, I know very little about  _ that _ .”

It was his turn to be surprised by her response. Not by the content, but just by the fact that she’d made it. Brock shrugged awkwardly. “I mean… if there’s anything you need--”

“I beg you not to finish that sentence,” Darcy grumbled.

“Who else is supposed to?” 

“Isn’t that something you expected me to know already?” she asked, arching an eyebrow in his direction. “I don’t know how to build a fire, don’t know how to cook for you, don’t know how to do farm work…” she sighed heavily, fiddling with the dish towel in her hand.

“Someone else was supposed to teach you all that other stuff. That first thing? We’re supposed to learn that together.  You know, once you can stand the sight of me.”

Darcy chuckled, a small smile tugging both at her lips and his heartstrings. He almost hated to leave, but if he stayed any longer, he might not make it back to the station to relieve Natasha for lunch.

He grabbed his hat from the hook and jammed it on his head. “I’ll be back around dinnertime.”

“You’d better be. Or I’ll show up at that station with my gun.”

He had a smile on his face as he climbed on Whisper’s back.

The ride back to the station was quiet, so that smile stayed put until he arrived back at his post. 

Once he’d sat down at the table, Natasha slapped a note in front of him. Scribbled on some old postage paper. 

His smile disappeared the second he saw who’d sent the letter.

Jack Rollins. 

The paper was brown, and so was the ink. Infinitely darker, though. And Brock didn’t want to know where it had come from.  

 

> _ B.R., _
> 
> _ I see some congratulations are in order. Your wife is a right pretty little thing. I’ll be in touch soon. Don’t let your honeymoon get in the way of all that thinking you’ve got to do. _
> 
> _ Sincerely, _
> 
> _ J.R _

 

How Jack knew what Darcy looked like, Brock didn’t have the foggiest. But he really wished he did.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5! On time this week!
> 
> Special thanks to thestanceyg for reading through these chapters for me!

**Darcy**

* * *

 

_a few days later, dinnertime_

* * *

 

Darcy gave dinner a final stir in the pot before bringing the spoon up to her lips for a taste. Never again was she going to make that same mistake. No matter how impatient she was to put a hot meal on the table.

She licked her lips after tasting it. Just the right amount of salt. In other words, as perfect as she could possibly make it.

Straightening her back, she replaced the spoon in the rest and walked over to the window, sliding the shutters open easily.  The sun was setting behind them, and she could just hear Whisper’s hooves on the ground just out of sight.

Even though it had only been a week, she’d trained her ear to hear Brock and Whisper’s approach, at the same time every noon and evening.

She had to admit, she liked the sound of Whisper’s evening hooves better than the noontime ones. At noontime, it almost felt like Whisper knew the day was only half over. In the evening, there was some spring in her step. Likely due to the oats Brock dumped into her trough and the spritely run she took around the barnyard.

He kept her tied up in town, and Whisper preferred being free.

But she was a good horse. Never tried to throw him and practically worshipped the ground Brock walked on. Darcy would have loved to get to know her better, but the horse was always with Brock, and she couldn’t ever seem to find a break in her housework for trips to town.

Hell, she hadn’t even been in to trade any of her butter at Stark’s General Store.

Not that Brock had noticed. He wasn’t lying before.  He loved buttered bread with every meal.

Churning it hadn’t been an easy thing to figure out.

Not that the churn was hard to operate. Dump in the cream and churn away.

It was just back-breakingly hard for what got produced.  Her first batch had been a little wet, but the second one she’d made that morning was beautifully smooth.  She’d even mixed in a little salt as she was turning it into a roll to flavor it a little.

It was sitting in one of the crocks on the tabletop.  Brock had taken some for his lunch and a little more for a snack on his bread in the afternoon.  She’d never felt so proud as she did when her husband liked something that she made.

Whisper’s hooves approached and she could just make out Brocks’ figure coming into view.  He rode the horse down towards the house and past it, towards the barn.

Darcy’s stomach rolled and she had to press her lips together to keep from doing something embarrassing. It was the same reaction she always had to Brock coming within a few feet of the barn. Usually, around this time of day, he just went in to get some oats for Whisper and came back.  But something made him stay a little longer that evening. Either that or Darcy’s conscience was coming back to haunt her for hiding something from her husband.

Natasha told her to keep herself calm. That it wasn’t that big of a problem, even if Brock found out.  Piglets escaped every enclosure. The fact that they’d broken a hole in the barn siding wasn’t her fault.

But those little stragglers were the reason she felt exhausted that day so long ago. Her second day of married life was spent with Natasha chasing piglets around the yard before they finally caught them and sequestered them inside. Only after falling down on their backsides no less than a half dozen times each.

After they’d gotten all three pigs safely inside, Darcy had dragged over another large-ish piece of lumber that Brock had stacked in a pile at one end of the barn. She’d dragged it into the pig trough and jammed it tightly in front of the hole.

Natasha had laughed and Darcy had invited her in for coffee. Or what passed as coffee out here, anyway.

Darcy couldn’t stomach the stuff, but she knew Brock must love it. It was one of the only things in the kitchen that had been here before she arrived.

Of course, she wasn’t exactly sure how to prepare it, and she dilly-dallied long enough for Natasha to heft herself off the chair and come over to help.

Water went into the kettle. The ‘coffee’ went in with it.

“It’s not actually coffee beans,” Natasha said as she measured some into the kettle. “The stuff around here is actually barley.  Okra seeds when they’re in season. Tastes right awful, but it fools our stomachs.”

Darcy had to laugh at Natasha’s combination shrug and grin.  The kettle was placed on the stove to heat up and the redhead gestured at the chairs to indicate that Darcy should sit down.

“So. How’s married life treating you?” Natasha asked while they waited for the kettle.

Darcy wasn’t sure what had gotten into her. If it had been the despair at the realization that she was ill-suited for this kind of work, Or, if it was the stark awareness that she’d utterly ruined her wool travel suit when she’d been thrown into the cow’s watering hole.  Or the fact that it truly didn’t matter because she’d likely never use the damn thing again in her life.

Her life was so different than she’d been expecting. And all the differences had happened in less than twenty-four hours.

But whatever the reason for her eventual outburst, it happened.  And she laid all her worries and fears out on the table in front of Natasha.

“I fear my husband thinks I’m too fine a lady to be out here. I fear everyone else thinks that as well. I miss my mother more than I ever thought possible and I have no one, absolutely no one to share those fears with. Everyone knows what they are doing. Everyone. Except me.”

Natasha worried her bottom lip for a moment before sitting forward in her chair. “Didn’t you pull a gun on Brock last night?”

Darcy’s eyes welled with tears once more. “Yes…” she replied, her tone watery with unshed tears.

The deputy chuckled a little. “Then you needn’t worry about what your husband thinks of you. I could tell when you stopped by this morning. He’s only too quick to run and get what you need. And yeah, he’s got a smart mouth, making fun of you for asking for money, but I can tell. Brock respects you. And from what I witnessed this morning… I have to say, you’re mighty resourceful.  Not many people would have stuck out chasing down all three piglets. Some of these other women would have called it quits after one. One is all you need to butcher next year, after all.” Natasha shrugged her shoulders. “And as for everyone else in the town? Let ‘em think what they want. They’ll see soon enough that you’re capable.”

“They’ll just think that Brock’s carrying me.”

“That says more about Brock than it does about you, I promise you that.”

“I don’t think Brock would carry me.”

“Brock would carry you to hell and back,” the redhead laughed. “Did you see the way he was stumbling over himself to find you that washboard? He’d carry ya.”

“What happened to his bite being worse than his bark?”

Natasha smiled. “You soften him up. He’d say that’s a bad thing. I say it’s about time.”

Darcy had sat back in her chair, the kettle began to whistle and Natasha hopped up to get it from the stovetop.  “Besides, if you have trouble with anyone in this town, you send ‘em to me. I’ll set ‘em straight. I think I got a good read on you now.”

“Oh, do you?”

Natasha poured a cup of the dark brown water into a cup. “Yep. You’re green.  You’re green as that cud the cow’s munching in that field out there. But you’ll wind up out the other end eventually. Like the rest of us.”

“You’re saying I’ll end up as cow manure?”

“Ain’t no better fertilizer, Mrs. Rumlow. Ain’t a thing at a farm with half as much potential. Now. Let me finish this coffee and we’ll run some milk by Stark’s. See if we can’t get ya that ginger root and sugar.”

Darcy smiled at that.  

And that’s how Brock found her when he ventured in from the barn. “You alright?” he asked, taking his hat from his head and walking round to the door. “You didn’t hit your head, did ya?”

“Nah,” Darcy replied, pushing back from the window. “I was just thinking.”

“Any chance you’d tell me what?” He hung his hat on the hook.

“Did you want to know?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Just… thinking about how different I was when I first got here.”

“You’re different?” he teased, “Coulda sworn you was the same greenie Nat met in the stagecoach.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and walked over to the stove. “See if I ever tell you what I’m thinking again.” She took a ladle and began to scoop some of the contents into a bowl.

“I’m just teasin’,” Brock insisted, taking a seat at the table. “Hey. I swear. Just teasin’ ya.”

Darcy shot him a tight smile and gave him the bowl. 

He got up and went to fetch two spoons as she portioned some out for herself.

He slid the spoon into the spot next to his before taking his seat again.

Darcy could feel his eyes on her when she slid her own bowl in front of the chair.  She walked back to the sill to get the loaf of bread she had cooling over there. The crock of fresh butter came with her as well.

Brock reached for the loaf before she even got seated, tearing off a piece only to slather it in butter. He hadn’t even touched his meal yet.

“I swear. I soaked the salt pork. Tasted it and everything.”

“I know. I figured ya did…” He picked up his spoon and gingerly put the tiniest bit into his mouth. Once he had, he took a bigger spoonful.

“You… uh… you sleep well?” Darcy asked brightly, stirring the contents of her bowl.

“Yep. Much better than on the floor, thank you,” he said with a chuckle.

She smiled, knowing damn well it didn’t reach past her cheeks. At least since he’d brought in that old bed frame and mattress from the barn, Brock hadn’t been hurting his back on the floor.

Darcy hated to admit it, but she was a little disappointed. But he  _ had _ promised he wouldn’t touch her unless she asked. And she definitely hadn’t asked. Not explicitly with words, at any rate. There were some moments, some pregnant pauses where she thought she might just launch herself at him. Moments when those dark eyes of his threatened to swallow her whole and she might just have let them.

But he usually broke eye contact and made his exit before any swallowing could occur. Either literally leaving the room or even just making a mental exit just to stare down at his dinner plate again.

A week since the wedding and she was still untouched. Out of all the things Darcy had been expecting about married life, that one was the most surprising and unexpected.

While alone, she often practiced asking him.  

“Brock. Won’t you come to bed with me?” she rehearsed, her voice clear and unwavering. Each night, she planned to ask him after dinner. When the dishes were stacked in the center of the table and she’d stoked up the fire for the night.

She repeated it often, throughout her lonely day on the farm, trying subtle nuances and accentuating certain syllables until it sounded right. Rolled off the tongue.

Such had been her day today. And Brock finished readily before she did, scraping his plate and even using his second piece of bread to sop up what was left in the bowl.

Darcy opened her mouth, half of her dinner still down in her bowl as she did. And instead of asking him what she so dearly wanted to ask, she closed her mouth and thought better of it.

“You about to say something?” he asked, placing his bowl and spoon in the center of the table.  “You looked like you were.”

“Yeah, I just… wanted to know if you’d like some more? There’s plenty.  Bread too.”

He smiled a little and shook his head no. “Nah.”

It was infuriating.

“I’ll just mosey on out to the barn and milk Bessie for ya, okay? Or did you wanna come out and try again?” he asked.

She nodded, looking down at her bowl.  “I’d rather if you waited for me, yeah.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll just go have a smoke, then.” He jutted his thumb out towards the porch.  Anything but stay in here with her longer than he was.

Darcy nodded again, scooping more of the contents of her bowl into her mouth. She tore off a hunk of bread after he’d gone, slathering it in butter and chewing angrily.

Her stomach refused to settle, and she’d probably have to dump half of her bowl into the pot once more because of it. Again, she really had no reason to worry, just like he had no reason to see her paltry patch job of the piglet’s stall while he was milking the cow, but there was still a chance he’d see it.  And the last thing Darcy wanted was for him to make fun of her for how she’d fixed it.

If she could just master milking, he’d have almost no reason to go out to the barn.

Because no matter what Natasha had said about him, Darcy didn’t think she could handle another one of his chuckled criticisms.

She was so bad at milking, it was lucky that she could handle churning the butter.

She finished as much of her meal as she could muster, scraping the rest into the pot and placing her bowl atop Brock’s in the center of the table.

The smell of tobacco wafted into the room through the open window, and Darcy snuck a peek out onto the porch.

Brock was a dark figure in the waning light, but the longer she looked, the more detail she could see. His beard was starting to grow out, creating a shadowy stubble on his face.

Darcy had to admit that she liked the way it looked.  She’d half expected him to shave it come Saturday, which she quickly discovered was bathing day out here when he’d run the tub of bathwater two nights before, pausing only to instruct her to heat the pots of water on the stove every time he filled it up.

A small tub was brought out, only big enough for Darcy fold her legs and sit in, really. There was a small scoop to dump the water over her head and a bar of soap to wash with. 

He’d let her go first, even though she’d assumed he would be the first to take a bath.

He’d cleared out of the house before she’d stripped down, taking care to stay far away from the windows until she poked her head out and beckoned him back inside.  She’d made sure to stay back in the bedroom, to give him the same amount of privacy as he bathed. Even though the entire time, she was wondering what he looked like under his clothes. She reckoned he’d be smoother.  A little less tanned, since he had a lot in his face from riding and such.

He cleared his throat, which brought her from her reverie. “You get a good look?” A smile followed like he somehow knew what she was daydreaming about, but Darcy was a little too embarrassed from being caught to really pay attention to the true nature of it. For some reason, it riled her. How dare he even ask when he was the one practically chomping at the bit to spend time away from her?

“Not nearly,” she muttered, emboldened by either the embarrassment or the anger that resulted from it.  She turned away to scoop the crumbs off the table to save for the chickens.

“I’m sorry, didn’t quite hear you?” Brock asked, leaning over the window sill and looking very much like he was daring her to do something about it.

“Oh, you heard me,” she replied, feeling a bit braver than she usually did.  Where was all this courage two minutes before?.

“You got something to say, darlin’?” Brock asked, taking another puff from his pipe. He was raising his eyebrows, but he was still leaning over the sill, taking a decidedly dignified stance. It only seemed to infuriate her all the more. His nonchalance.

Leaving the kitchen unswept, she turned to directly walk out the door and join him on the porch. The door banged closed behind her as she emerged. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to say. She hadn’t had time to even practice it. But seeing how her practice had worked out for her, she figured maybe no practice was better.

“Am I not entertaining you or something?” Darcy asked, her voice loud against the silence of the early twilight. “You bored in there with me?”

His pipe was in his mouth, and he was frozen stock still, watching her. He took a puff and held it in for a moment before blowing it out. “No. I just figured I’d get outta your way.”

“Did you  _ like _ dinner?” she asked.

“I ate it, didn’t I? It was good. It was food.” He shrugged and took another puff. “Edible.”

“Oh boy, I surely thank you,” she said harshly. “I’m sure that was difficult for you to say.”

“As difficult as it was for me to eat it the first time you made it,” he countered, smirking slightly. “You finish yours? Might want to, if you’re gonna try milking Bessie again. She likes a firm hand. Which you ain’t got yet.”

She’d love to fist her hands in his shirt, show him just how firm her hand could be.  Except he was right. She  _ didn’t _ have it yet.

She exhaled slowly, feeling very deflated.

Hell, Darcy couldn’t even ask her husband to spend the night with her. How could she even think she had a firm hand? How could she summon up the courage to ask him if she didn’t?

Maybe she couldn’t because there was this little niggling feeling in her brain that told her he wouldn’t. Even  _ if _ she asked.

So she was stuck. A vicious cycle of needing to gain an upper hand in order to gain an upper hand.

He took another puff. “I don’t think that’s all you were gonna say, was it??” His dark eyes bored into hers, and she felt her hands begin to tremble. It was like he was reading her mind.

She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Nope. That was all. Just wanted to know if you liked dinner.”

“As I said, it was dinner. You ain’t gettin’ a pat on the head for doing what you’re supposed to be doing.”

Anger bubbled within her, boiling over and scalding him. “Doing what I’m  _ supposed _ to? Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” She laughed, but the sound that bubbled up had no humor at all.

Brock pushed up from the post he was leaning on. “What’s that supposed to mean? I do everything and then some.”

“You ain’t doin’  _ everything _ ,” she said knowingly, arching her eyebrow. Testing him. Daring him.

Realization bloomed on his face and he stepped closer. “You want me to take you right in the kitchen? Want me pushed over the edge by a mediocre meal, Miss Lewis?”

“It’s Mrs. Rumlow,” she spat back at him. “And maybe. It’d be nice.”

“Would it?” He stepped even closer, leaning in so she could smell his breath. It was sweet with tobacco and Darcy had a hard time refraining from closing the distance herself. She could. But for some reason, it felt like a hollow sort of victory. She needed to know he wanted it too. “That mean you’re asking?”

“If I was, would you?”

“I’d have to,” he replied, eyes flashing. “ _ Have to _ .” He emptied the pipe into the dirt by the porch. He stamped out the cinders and pocketed the pipe.

“Because you promised, or because you want to?” she asked quietly.

He stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them.  He wrapped one arm around her waist, almost knocking her off her feet as he hauled her impossibly near. He smelled of sweat and tobacco. Of the outdoors.

Darcy’s hands went to his chest, fisting in his shirt like she’d wanted before. Neither holding him back nor pulling him close. Keeping him just there. Just out of reach while she searched his face.

Unbridled desire oozed from him, warm as it entered her body, hot the longer she stared at him. 

She took her bottom lip between her teeth and he groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “Does this feel like just a promise?”

Darcy shook her head and released her lip. “Feels like you want it as much as I do.”

Brock surged forward, his lips finding hers roughly. It was messy and real. Her teeth clicked against his, but neither of them cared.

Her arms smoothed up his chest and around his neck, jolting when her back hit the outer wall of the house because she hadn’t even realized she was moving. His hand cradled the back of her head just in time to shield it from the same fate.

He grunted into her mouth, pressing his body fully against hers.

Darcy whimpered against his lips and he stopped, pulled back from her, taking a full step back from her and ran his hand over his face. “Sorry,” he muttered, blinking slightly and shifting his weight awkwardly.

A surge of something welled up in Darcy as she looked up at him in the dwindling light. She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers and pulling him inside after her. He went willingly. Following her like he didn’t even care where she took him as long as it ended up in the bedroom.

She slowly led him across the floor. Past the table,  past the kitchen entirely. Taking him exactly where she wanted him.

He stopped walking, paused at the doorway to the bedroom.  _ Their  _ bedroom. “You sure about this, Darcy?” He asked.”Still haven't heard you ask me.”

She took a deep breath, screwing up her courage. “Brock, will you spend the night with me?”

He smiled. His eyes sort of crinkled around the edges, his eyes danced just a little in the low light.“There's nothing I'd like to do more.”

When she walked this time, he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the smuthanger, I do pick up right where I left off next week, though!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be the smut, folks! :D :D :D With a little bit of plot at the end... things are going to hopefully get more plotty from here on out.
> 
> I won't be posting next Saturday because of the crack challenge, but I'll be back on 4/13/19 with Chapter 7!
> 
> Enjoy, and a special thanks to thestanceyg for looking this over for me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID do research on the clothing of the time, so I could get the details somewhat correct. I made Brock go commando, because it's kind of warm? I mean. Sue me, but he wouldn't wear a union suit if it was very warm out, I have the source somewhere, but not handy. If we make it to winter in this fic, I'll be sure to include it. ;)

**Brock**

 

He backed her into the bedroom, his hand protectively cupped around the back of her head as their feet shuffled on the floorboards.

Darcy’s hands scrabbled for purchase on his chest, falling to the edges of the vest he’d thrown on that morning. He felt, more than saw her thumbs rubbing against the fabric and his collarbones underneath.

Brock broke off the kiss at the foot of the bed. “Just a second…”

“Yes, I’m sure this is what I want,” Darcy whispered, preemptively guessing what he was going to say.  He had to smile at her eagerness, even if she was flat wrong about what he needed to ask her.

“Darcy… how much of this do you know about?” he asked, keeping his voice low for propriety’s sake, even though there was no one else around.

“Of  _ this _ ?” she asked, lowering her eyes, the color rising in her cheeks. “I know enough.”

“How much is enough?” he asked, leaning over to kiss her lips, he didn’t linger, but she tried to, tugging on his vest to keep him close. “You gotta tell me how much, sweetheart…”

“My mother explained where babies came from. And what the wedding night was going to be like. What I should expect…” she replied. “I know it’ll hurt… there will be blood and… honestly. I’m used to blood, so I’m not at all worried about it. She also said if my husband was any kind of gentleman, it wouldn’t be too terrible.”

Brock smiled, reaching up to tuck a tendril of loose hair behind her ear. “I’ll do my best, but I don’t have all that training and money that gentlemen have…”

“Pretty sure most of the men of my acquaintance weren’t the same kind of gentlemen to which my mother was referring.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. But I’d rather not spend any time talking about my old beaus.”

“If your old beaus did anything untoward, maybe you should tell me,” he countered.

She scoffed. “My old beaus never did more than kiss me goodnight. And all their kisses were on the cheek.”

“So you’re a greenie when it comes to this too?”

Darcy raised her eyebrows. “I wish you’d come up with another word for that.”

“Fine. Virginal. Believe they named your home state after it, Mrs. Rumlow.”

She rolled her eyes and tugged on his lapels. “‘Less you want me to stay that way, we’d better get a move on,  _ Mr. Rumlow _ .”

He wrapped both arms around her waist once more, tugging her even closer and apparently scaring a squeak out of her in the process. He leaned down and kissed her. Not unlike how he’d kissed her that first night when he put his whole body into it. Not just his lips. He felt her body meld into his and he thrilled a little at the feeling.

Every man wanted to know he made his woman weak in the knees. And judging by the way Darcy was trembling, he made her weak in other places too.

He broke off the kiss briefly, nuzzling her nose for a short moment. “We’ll take things slow, okay? Keep it at a pace you’re comfortable with?”

Brock felt her nod as her lips found him again. He let his fingers drag down her back and settle in the dip of her lower back, she pressed herself against him, her trembling calming down when she reached around to the buttons on his vest.

He lost himself in the soft kisses as her fingers slipped each button from its hole until his vest hung loosely on his arms.  She reached up to push it from his shoulders and he removed his hands from her waist only long enough for the garment to fall to the floor before reaching for her again.

It was almost like he was stuck to her, he couldn’t bear to be separated from her.

When he felt her nimble fingers up at his throat, he swallowed thickly, relishing the rush of her breath over his skin as she unbuttoned his shirt the same as she had his vest.

She slowly slid each of his suspenders off his shoulders and he himself got the buttons at his wrists, tugging the shirt up so it too could fall to the floor.

That left him in his undershirt, suspenders, and trousers.

Darcy’s smooth fingers ran over the expanse of skin bared by his shirt’s removal. Up and down each arm, over his shoulders.  With every touch, he felt a jolt of arousal right there between his legs. He wasn’t going to make it if she kept that up. He needed to slow her down somehow.

He grasped both of her hands and took a step forward, coaxing her back towards the mattress behind her. Her eyes widened, but she went, sitting down roughly on the bed with a high sound in the back of her throat that was likely a whine, but that knowledge could surely kill him, so he didn’t let himself think about her sounds too much.

Kneeling down on the floor in front of her, Brock watched her quizzical eyes as his knee hit. First the right, then the left, before he was reaching for the hem of her dress. He lifted it gently, folding it up and over her lap before doing the same with her embroidered petticoat.

He slid both his hands up her outer thighs,  smiling devilishly when he found the ties on her bloomers.

“Wait…” she exclaimed, wriggling like he was tickling her. “You didn’t take the rest off…”

“You sure I need to?” he teased, tugging on the ties.

“I mean… if I’m to get undressed…”

He made soft shushing noises and used his fingers to loosen her waistband. “This will make things easier for us both. I promise…”

She still wasn’t completely on board, so he appealed to her once more. “Trust me. I want this to feel good. Want there to be as little pain as I can muster… “

“And this is how you accomplish that?” she asked.

He nodded, sliding the bloomers down over her hips and knees, discarding them as well. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her knee, just above the hem of her stockings. He repeated the action on the other one before spreading her knees apart.

She gasped and he tucked his head beneath the skirt and her petticoat, inhaling her scent as he moved closer.

Brock coaxed her thighs a little further apart, watching as she spread apart for him. She was pink and slick.  Inexperienced as hell, given how she yelped when he passed two fingers over her sex, spreading the lips a bit further apart.

She was dewy, damn near dripping with it as he leaned his head down.

He couldn’t help it. A moan slipped out when his lips met her flesh. He felt her quiver, felt the tension in her thighs as she squirmed on their bedspread.

Slowly exploring her cunt, his tongue moving lazily between all her folds, tasting her everywhere before he finally went where he could do some real good. The tiny nub made her whimper as her hips strained to rock against him. Or pull away. Like she couldn’t decide.

Brock brought one hand out and placed it, outstretched on her lap.  She took it, clasped it tightly, but didn’t try to pull away again. Maybe because he’d settled into a comfortable rhythm.

He propped his head against her thigh as he flicked the little nub back and forth, her whimpering turning into flat out moaning.

“Mmm, that’s it. Let me hear you, darlin’...” he murmured against her skin, unsure of if she could understand him or not, and not really caring one way or another.

He brought his other hand to join in, one finger wriggling its way down to her opening.  His finger stretched her at first, but the more he rubbed, the more his tongue slid against her, the looser and looser she got.

Until he could add a second finger. He turned his palm up, wriggling in a ‘come hither’ way until he felt her taut muscles suddenly release. 

“Oh… Brock… Brock, Brock…” she chanted his name as she ground herself against his mouth.

By the time he’d slid his fingers from her body, licking them clean and ducking out from under her skirt, she was red-faced and flustered.  He grinned, licking his lips.

She slid back on her hands and Brock rose to his feet, a definitive bulge jutting out from inside his pants that needed some attending.

He reached forward, plucking the buttons of her dress, opening each one down her chest and onto her belly.  She rose slightly, helping him send the dress over her head.

She untied her petticoat, tossing it aside as she reached for the front of her corset. Brock watched with interest because he’d only ever untied the things. He’d never seen someone unhook it themselves, even though it made sense since Darcy had no one to tie a corset for her.

He didn’t really think much about her undergarments once they were gone. She tossed the corset aside and he pressed his knee between hers, climbing up onto the bed with her.

She kissed him hungrily and squealed when he slid his hand down between her legs, not bothering to remove her camisole for no other reason than he was impatient. He was aching and his trousers didn’t leave him much room for such things.

Brock slid two fingers up into her once more, rocking them in and out as she reached for the buttons on his trousers, undoing each one and reaching boldly into his pants to pull him out.

His pants slid down over his hips a little and he removed his fingers and propped himself up over her, shaking with arousal as she guided his stiff member to her entrance.

Brock’s breath caught in his throat when he entered her. She was so soft and hot. Her body gripped him as he slowly worked himself inside.

“You okay?” he whispered, his eyes stunningly close to her face when he looked up at her. She nodded, blue eyes wide.

“Doesn’t hurt…” she said. “I expected it to hurt a little.”

He worked himself a little further forward and she mewled, her words all but inaudible at first. “Hurts a little bit…” she whispered. “But not enough that I want you to stop.”

Kissing her hungrily, both of them groaned when his hips met hers. He stayed there for a few seconds, his body singing out for her as he felt her shift beneath him.  Finally, he pulled back a tiny bit, pressing forward and practically melted down into her when she cooed out his name.

Oh, it was heaven. Right then. If he died, he could be happy. Right there. With her.

“Darcy…” he whispered, holding out for as long as he could before his release came rushing out like water from a dam. He felt his member pulse inside her, and she tightened her fingers on his shoulders, holding him close until he finished.

Brock rolled over afterward, sighing even as Darcy giggled a little.

“What’re you giggling about?” he asked, smiling languidly and extending his arm toward her.  She curled into it instinctively. Something warm bubbled up in his chest when she did that. Turned towards him, a sweet smile on her lips. She trusted him. Felt comfortable enough with him to do this.

“What about the cow?” she asked, blue eyes wide and innocent and liable to swallow him whole.

“What cow?” he repeated, a little tongue-tied considering. He was also drunk off  _ her _ . She had that effect on him for some reason.

“We were gonna milk Bessie after dinner...” she replied, smiling again as he remembered. Life existed somewhere other than between his wife’s legs. And it was likely mooing like mad out there at the barn door waiting for them.

“Shit…” He hopped up from the bed and tripped over his pants before he could get them pulled up. Darcy didn’t make any move to join him. “You. Stop laughing and come on. Less you’re too sore to come help,” the last part was a taunt. A tease. He wasn’t seriously expecting her to join him. She’d been busy enough.

“I ain’t either,” she called back. “You were  _ very _ gentle with me.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but I was just foolin’ ya.  You ain’t gotta come out with me.”

“Bull. I gotta learn how to milk her. It’s not your job.” She brought both legs up to fold in front of her and folded her arms. “So you’re teaching me, mister.”

“I figured you might be tired.”

“No more tired than you,” she countered.

He smirked and gave up on getting fully dressed. Pants and an undershirt was fine. Bessie surely didn’t care. “Fine, but you need to cover up. Might not have anyone out here, but what if someone was out ridin’ saw my wife running around as naked as a jaybird?”

“Figure they might be jealous. It sure beats wearing all this stuff day in and day out.”

Brock ran his eyes up and down her mostly nude form. “Darcy.”

Darcy sighed and reached for her petticoat. A frilly blue one that matched the ribbons on her camisole.

“That all you’re putting on?” he asked.

“Do I need to dress formally for the cow?” she asked.

“No, I don’t guess so…”

“It’s just a lot of work to put all of that back on…” She gestured to the pile of clothes, but he had a sneaking suspicion she just meant the corset.

“You ain’t gotta do all that, you know. Ladies round here… they don’t bother with it on days that ain’t Sunday.”

“I don’t have anything else,” she said with a shrug. “Wish I could wear some trousers like Natasha does, but I don’t have any.”

“Wouldn’t bother me none if you decided to…” he said with a shrug. Who was it bothering, really?  Besides. Natasha had greased that wheel already. There wasn’t nothin’ these folks would say about a woman in trousers.

“Really?” she asked.

He shrugged again. “Why should it matter what you wear? Wear what you need to.” She stared at him for a long, long moment. Long enough that he got embarrassed. “I mean. Whatever you want.” Her eyes on him weren’t bad. In fact, he kinda liked it when she looked at him. But this felt different. Deeper. She was looking at him like she could see what was under his skin. Could see the wheels turning in his head. 

Standing up, he walked out of the house and towards the barn with Darcy close behind.

Brock was so busy thinking about the feel of her eyes on his back when he was surprised by something else. Something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

Something up a’ ways, barely visible in the low light, but he could see it just fine.

A man on a horse. Just over the horizon. On the road leading down to his property. The animals were too quiet for the man to have actually come onto the property. But the fact that he was on the outskirts was bad enough. Brock couldn’t see anything specific on him, but he knew who it was regardless.

Jack Rollins.

“Who’s that?” Darcy asked, running into his back and threading her arm through his as she peered up to where he was looking. “Do we know him?”

He contemplated telling her. Telling her everything. About Hydra. About Rollins. About what he was faced down with.

But that was likely just the afterglow talking. She wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t be able to look past his past. It wasn’t the time. Not just when they’d finally found something akin to tenderness.

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “C’mon. Bessie’s waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxo! Until next time! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey, I'm back, just like I'm promised! 
> 
> This one's a Darcy chapter and we get to meet another character!!!
> 
> I'm sure no one's surprised by this one, though. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the rest of this pretty well laid out, so I'm super excited!

**Darcy**

* * *

 

Darcy swiftly tied the bonnet over her head, a smile stretching across her face as she glanced at the bowl of berries on the counter.  Huckleberries, Brock had informed her the night before, popping a few into his mouth. “They make good jam.” _Also pies_ , she had thought as she made plans to go pick a few more the next morning.

And she had, after milking Bessie and seeing Brock off to work. She’d picked enough for a nice big pie. Now all she needed was a little sugar for the filling and flour to make the crust.

She had an account now at Stark’s General Store, and she aimed to use some of it today.

There really was just something to be said about the act of baking something. Creating something from practically nothing. And then to have someone enjoy eating it as well?

Especially when that someone was your man.

 _My man…_ she thought to herself, unwilling to stop the smile from spreading as the thought formed. Brock was her man. And her marriage had finally, _finally_ developed into something resembling her dreams.

It wasn’t perfect. There were hard edges. Like how difficult it was for him to talk about his day. He never talked about work, but he listened to her talk about everything she’d done. It felt unbalanced.

But then they’d go to bed and some nights, he’d just lay beside her, draping his arm over her waist and tugged her close. She’d wake up all sweaty when they rooster crowed, but she didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to chance him moving away.

Other nights, his fingers would toy with the hem of her gown and she’d tug it up and over her head, pulling him close as he tucked his nude body against hers, slotting them together like they were made for it. His breath was hot and smelled like tobacco, but she couldn’t get enough.

A wildcat, he called her sometimes, chuckling and rubbing his hand over some scratches she’d left on his shoulder.

Darcy’d just shrug. “Don’t be so good at what you’re doing, then…”

He’d arch a brow and lean over to kiss her. “I think it’s you who’s too good at this for your own well being.”

“Lucky I have you to watch out for me, then…” she’d tease.

Mornings after nights like that… she’d wake up tangled in his arms and he’d be stroking her back. Groaning when he had to roll out of the nest they’d made of sheets and quilts to get dress and ready for work.

It wasn’t perfect by any stretch, but it was close enough that Darcy was fairly certain she loved him.

But he hadn’t said so yet. And she could be patient. She _was_ already married to the guy.

Darcy could barely contain her glee as she gathered up her market basket and made her way into town. The walk was longer without help from Whisper, but it was a nice walk. And the weather was just fine as well. She passed by a few other farms on the twisting lane she and Brock lived on, but she saw few people until she entered Serpent Flats Proper.

The doctor’s office was on her left, across the road, as she walked into town.  The general store was on her right, and the door jingled as she walked in.

“Hello there, Mrs. Rumlow,” Howard said from behind the counter.

He had a nice smile, but from what she’d gleaned from Brock and Natasha, he liked to drink away his dollars at the bar in the hotel across the street. His son Tony (who kept a livery stable and blacksmith’s shop on the other end of Main Street), and long-suffering wife were constantly having to bail him out of this, that, and the other.

She tried not to let that knowledge color her conversations with him, but it wasn’t any small thing to be a man of a certain age and have to rely on one’s unmarried son to take care of you as well as two family businesses.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” she said with false brightness.

Also, she just happened to like Tony better than Howard. Tony was kind and always had some adorable nickname for her. Howard’s moods ran the gamut. Although, it seemed as if today was a good day. Perhaps his wife had been able to keep him off the taps.

“What can I fetch for you today?”

“Some sugar. About a half pound. And flour. Same amount.”

“Coming right up, Mrs. Rumlow.”

A woman had just entered the shop across from her. Darcy had to squint because she wasn’t sure she recognized her. She’d been here long enough to have seen everyone at some point.

This woman had long brown hair, swept up severely from her face. She also held herself a bit taller than Darcy was used to seeing.  Well, save Natasha.

“Dr. Foster,” Howard said coolly. “I trust you have a list for me once more?”

“I trust you’re sober enough to handle it?” The doctor Foster replied with hardly an arch of her brow.

Howard grumbled under his breath, and Darcy eyed the woman as she joined her at the counter.

“I’ll just wait for you to wait on this good lady first,” she said, placing both her list and her bare hands on the counter in front of her.  “Hello,” she said, turning towards Darcy. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dr. Jane Foster. From back east, just arrived last Friday.”

“You’re… you’re a doctor?” Darcy asked, somewhat flabbergasted. She’d never met the doctor here in Serpent Flats, but she had no reason to think he was unfit for the job. So unfit that they’d sent back east for someone else.

“Indeed,” Jane said with a small smile. “Surprising, I know. But I attended medical school and worked for a very talented doctor afterward. I also have endured more than my share of combat medicine. I’m more than qualified to take over this practice.”

“I never would have suggested otherwise, I’m just surprised to see you… “ Darcy replied. “My husband is the sheriff of Serpent Flats, and he said nothing about your predecessor leaving his post.”

“Oh yes. It was… under dubious circumstances, I’m told. Your husband should be able to tell you more,” Dr. Foster replied. “It’s my understanding that the people of your town haven’t exactly been told all of the circumstances resulting in his departure.”

“I should think not,” Darcy said.

“Here is your sugar and flour, Mrs. Rumlow. I’ll deduct the total from your account and send a receipt to your husband,” Howard said.  His demeanor turned cold as he turned to Jane. “Mrs.-- Dr. Foster, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed as he turned to leave. She glanced back to Jane apologetically, but Jane simply shrugged. “It will take time, I’m sure for some of the residents here to warm up to me.”

“Until we meet again,” Darcy said, dipping her head as she took her leave.

“Mrs. Rumlow, if you ever find yourself in need of a change of scenery, I could use some help with my practice.”

“I’m afraid I’m not qualified to be a nurse,” Darcy said, embarrassed.

“Well, I’m afraid that nurses are difficult to come by out here. Sometimes I need a second pair of hands. And if you’re not squeamish. I would compensate you accordingly.”

Darcy raised her eyebrows at that. Compensation? For work? It was a tempting offer, but she simply didn’t have the time currently. She shook her head. “I’m afraid my days are rather full, Dr. Foster. But I shall keep your offer in mind, should a need ever arise.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jane replied and waved as Darcy exited the general store.

 _How alarming!_  A new doctor and an offer for work on the same day. She’d been planning to stop by the sheriff's office but feared she had nothing other than sweet smiles to offer her husband for such a visit.

Now it would seem she had too many topics to bring up to him.

 

* * *

 

She entered the office and smiled when Brock looked up at her, scrambling to rise to his feet to meet her before she could take so much as a step towards him.

“Good morning,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

She returned his sentiments and allowed him to take her basket. She turned down the offer of a chair, preferring instead to sit on the edge of his desk, her hands primly folded in her lap.

Natasha wasn’t sitting across the room.  So she tilted her head in that direction. “Natasha’s not in?”

“Not this morning, no.”

“She’s not feeling ill?”

“No, no.  She just… sometimes doesn’t come in until later. It doesn’t matter anyway, we haven’t had any problems.”

“No problems, huh?” Darcy asked, her mouth quirking up slightly. “No problems such as the town’s doctor being run off and a new, lady doctor taking his place?”

Brock pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No. Not again at any rate. Have you been visiting the ladies’ quilting circle?”

“Not even close. I ran into Dr. Foster in the General Store and _she_ explained the whole ordeal to me. Imagine how silly I looked. The Sheriff’s wife. Not knowing the town doctor had been run off?”

Brock looked sufficiently sheepish. “I was going to share it, it just… slipped my mind.”

“Slipped your mind? I’m always looking for things to talk to you about. What am I if not a sounding board for your troubles, Brock?”

“You’re my wife, is what you are. And you didn’t need to worry about that.”

“What happened? Why’d he leave?” Darcy asked, not being put off by his cutesy tone for a minute.

“There was a conflict of interest. He was asked to leave, he didn’t. So Natasha and I ran him out on the train that came in on Tuesday.”

“You ran him out of town?” Darcy exclaimed. She stood up for lack of something else to do. What she wanted was to jump up and down and shake Brock’s shoulders. “Why?”

“We had reason to believe he was taking payments from an outlaw gang. He wasn’t performing in the best interests of the town.”

“An outlaw gang? That same one that’s been giving you trouble? Hydra?” She pointed to a wanted sign on the wall behind his desk. The picture was of a scruffy, unshaven man with dark eyes and short, short hair.  Jack Rollins, the name read.

Brock nodded, pressing his lips together again. “One and the same.”

“Well, it seems like they’re not backing down. Should I be worried?” Darcy asked.

Brock immediately shook his head. “No, no, no.  Me and Nat have this under control. Don’t you worry about that.  Now…” He sat down on his desk and pulled her hands into his, placing them in his lap, he turned his eyes completely to her, situating himself noticeably between the wanted poster and her. She hoped he didn’t think he was being sly. Because he wasn’t.

“You’re trying to get me to change the subject, Brock Rumlow.”

“Damn straight. I can think of a billion other things we can talk about. Like what time I’m getting home to you tonight?”  She couldn’t help but smile when he tugged her closer, his lips pressing to her cheek. “Just before dinnertime, like always, in case you was wondering.”

“You ain’t ever late, so… really I wasn’t. You’ve got me spoiled.”

“Good,” he said, grinning. “Because what I really want to talk about is that patch job in the barn stall. Where we have the piglets?”

Her mouth fell open. “You _knew_?”

He laughed, leaning up to kiss her. “Of course I did. But it was a damn good patch job, so I didn’t feel like it needed to be addressed.”

“So why bring it up now?”

“Because you weren’t. And I was curious.”

“They broke out of the barn and Natasha and I had to chase em down. That day when I cooked for you.”

He let out a laugh. “You and Natasha? Chasing them piglets around the yard? That, I’d pay to see.”

Darcy shot him a look. “I’d pay to see you do it. Because it’s damn near impossible.”

“I _couldn’t_ do it, so all the more reason to watch how you did it,” he laughed. “And that was a damn fine patch job on that barn anyway. Why’d you hide it from me?”

She shrugged. “Thought you’d laugh at me again. I wanted to impress you.”

His smile dropped when she said that. He tugged her down for another kiss. “You impress the hell outta me, Darcy Lewis.”

“Rumlow,” she corrected.

“Darcy Rumlow,” he repeated, smiling again as she kissed him this time. “And I’m sorry I didn’t treat you like the damn impressive woman that you are. Gonna make a habit of making it up to you if you don’t mind.”

She had to hold back the salacious grin because it would not have been proper. Even if he was her husband. “Fine by me.”

“What’d you buy at the store?” he asked, nodding to her basket.

“Flour. And Sugar. I’m making you a pie.”

“Huckleberry?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Hot damn. That’s my favorite. I was hoping for jam, but a pie’s even better.” Darcy smiled and reluctantly pulled away.

“If I’m gonna make it, I should go.”

She didn’t bring up Dr. Foster’s offer just yet. He was still hiding something from her, so she could keep that from him for now.

“You wanna take Whisper home?” he asked, nodding towards the horse, hitched outside. He rose to his feet and offered his arm as they walked towards the door.

“Then it’d take you forever to get home tonight,” she said, shaking her head. “And plus, she doesn’t quite trust me yet. The walk’s fun anyway.”

“Fine, fine,” he replied, walking her as far as the edge of the porch. He tilted his hat back and leaned down to kiss her in front of God and everyone walking by.  “You have a good afternoon, darlin’. I’ll see you soon.”

“Can’t wait,” she replied, turning and walking towards the path that led home.

 

* * *

 

The walk home was uneventful, other than she stopped to pick a handful of black-eyed Susans for the center of the table.

She was rolling out her pie crust when she heard it. A knock on the door.

Darcy jolted in alarm. It wasn’t Brock, because he never knocked before he came in. And she’d never had another visitor out here since the shivaree. She had her gun back in the bedroom, as well as a shotgun mounted over the door, so she decided to answer it.

She opened the door to a rather clean-cut man in dirty clothes, a practice in opposites. He had a nice smile on his face, and it prompted her to smile back. He reached up to remove his hat, which he held in his hands, moving his fingertips in a circle around the rim as he stood there nervously.

“I’m sure sorry to bother you, ma’am. But could you spare some water for my horse? He’s mighty thirsty and the dummy I forgot to water him before I left.

She stepped out onto the porch, wiping her floury hands on a towel and pointing towards the watering hole in the pasture. “You can take him out there and let him drink. That don’t bother me none at all.”

“Oh thank you, ma’am. Me and Winston sure do appreciate it.”

She stood out on the porch while the man led his horse through the gate and closed it, going back to stand by the fence. The horse wandered toward the watering hole and bent to drink.

Darcy wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, probably her damned curiosity. But she found herself walking out to stand beside him at the fence. “You from around here?”

“Here and there,” he answered, turning to look at her and then looking back at the horse. “You sure look familiar. You got a sister around these parts?”

She laughed. “No, no. I’m not from around here. I came from back east.”

“Back east, huh? What brought you out here?”

“My husband,” she answered, still watching the horse. “I married the sheriff in Serpent Flats.”

“I know the place,” the man said. “I know the sheriff too. He’s the one who used to run with Hydra and then switched sides, isn’t he?”

Darcy felt her cheeks go hot and she turned towards the man. “What?”

“Brock Rumlow. He ran with Hydra and then switched sides when he got caught.”

“I…” she trailed off, suddenly wishing she had more than a towel to defend herself with. “I’m not certain. I only just met him. I mean, before the wedding.”

“Ah. I see. Keeping it close to the vest. I don’t blame him.”

Her mind was racing. She released the fence and took a step away from the man.  “I don’t suppose so…”

_Hydra? Brock ran with the same outlaw gang he and Natasha are busting up?_

Darcy’s thoughts flipped through like a slide show, and she stopped on one. One that made her blood run cold as she turned to face the man again. The man, who with just a little more facial hair would be a dead ringer for Jack Rollins.

He was looking at her, grinning as he watched her put it all together.

She really wished she had her revolver right now.

“Looks like I’ve overstayed my welcome. No matter. Winston’s had enough to drink.” He whistled and the horse approached the gate, which he swung open to let out his horse. “I’ll just be going now. You have a good day, Mrs. Rumlow.”

She watched him ride off, and only after he disappeared did she run inside. Hell for leather, she locked the door and sank down to the floor, her breath coming fast and hard.

 

* * *

 

She finally managed to pull herself up off the ground and shakily put a pie in the oven. She slid open the lock on the door when she heard Whisper’s hooves outside.

Darcy knew she wasn’t hiding anything by the way she looked or the way she was standing, but it almost didn’t make any difference. Brock was going to know something was wrong.

And he did. The second he looked at her, the smile fell from his face. “What’s wrong, honey?”

She ran to him, allowing his strong arms to comfort her and she let him. Let him hug her and stroke her back.

“A man came here.”

He tensed. “What man?”

“That one from the wanted posters in the sheriff’s office,” she replied.

He grasped her shoulders and pushed her back, looking her square in the eye he asked her to repeat it.  She did.

His hands dropped as he swore, turning to pace in the living room.  “What was he doing here?”

“He stopped by to ask for water for his horse. So I let him go and put his horse out by the watering hole.”

“And you went out there with him?”

She nodded. “It was stupid I know.”

“Damn straight it was stupid… but just… don’t worry about that for now.” He turned back to her. “What did he say?”

“Lots of things. But he knew who I was. And once I figured out who he was, he left. Didn’t take nothing but water for his horse. Didn’t hurt me. He just left. And he didn’t come back.”

“You can damn sure bet on it that he’ll be back soon,” Brock replied.  “Damn him. I’m sorry he involved you.”

Darcy pressed her lips together and looked down at her clasped hands, screwing up the courage to ask the next question.

“Brock?”

“Hmm?”

“Were you an outlaw before you became a sheriff?”

His face went from shock to acceptance in record time as he likely deduced just what Rollins had said to her. It broke her heart to look at him. To see the acceptance and resolve there in his face.

“Yes,” he replied.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” she said softly.

“Well, believe it, sugar. You married a bad man.”

“You ain’t bad now.”

“Doesn’t matter…” he sighed, slumping down in a chair. “Once bad, always bad, and rotten to the core….” he turned to look at her. “Please don’t cry, Darcy. I don’t think I can take it.”

“I’m not…” she said, sniffing and realizing that she was indeed, crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxo! Give me some sugar!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So like. I feel the need to emphasize that I'm only using Hydra as an outlaw gang. They're the worst ones out there, but they're an outlaw gang and not nearly as pervasive or contagious as they are in MCU canon. Alexander Pierce started it and he recruited orphans. Boys who had no one else, so they depended on him completely. Now, I'm a firm believer that your past shapes you, but character defines what you do with it. 
> 
> Brock and Jack had the same past. But their respective characters are polar opposites.

**Brock**

* * *

 

She hadn’t said much since he’d admitted to being a former outlaw. Not since she’d told him she wasn’t crying. With the tears streaming down her face.

He sat down at the table while she bustled around the kitchen, getting dinner together.

While he was a tiny bit relieved that everything was all out in the open, Brock still could have kicked himself. Of course, he should have told her about his past. He should have given her a chance to figure out for herself if she wanted a part of this. But idiot that he was, he’d just been basking in the sunshine without giving a thought to the storm clouds. He’d been addicted to the way she looked at him like he hung the moon.

He was a complete dumbass; he let himself get too close to her. And now that she knew everything, she probably felt trapped.

Fuck.

“Look, Jack’s after me. If I go to him, he’ll leave you alone, and if we’re lucky… he’ll leave ya a widow. You’d be free to do whatever you wanted.”

The words seemed to echo in the quiet of the room. Even as she stopped moving and rounded on him, her blue eyes flashing with anger and something else. Something deeper.

“Fuck being a widow. I’m your wife, Brock.” Her voice was clear and loud as anything. Her words struck some chord deep inside him. They that made him want to jump up and kiss her. To show her how good he could be if she was with him. But something about the way her lips tightened told him that it wasn’t a good time.

“You couldn’t possibly want me after you find out everything I did.”

“Try me,” she countered.

“I held up a bank,” he said. “Couple of ‘em, actually. Didn’t kill nobody at those, but I stole a lot of money for my boss.”

Her face was blank, except for the quirk of one eyebrow. “What else you got?”

“I only ever shot one man on purpose, but I hit a couple of men by accident trying to spook the horses.”

Still nothing.

“Robbed trains. Stagecoaches. Stole family heirlooms from people.”

She turned around, looking around the house. “Where are they now? The heirlooms?”

“I didn’t steal ‘em for me. They were for my boss.”

“Sounds like your boss had you wrapped around his finger, Brock.”

“Well yeah. He raised me when my own family wouldn’t. But doesn’t matter. He was a bad man. He’s dead now, thanks to me. But he was a bad man and so am I.”

“I ain't arguing with that. You were a bad man. But if he came walking through that door right there and asked you to leave me? Leave your job, and go back to working for him, would you do it?”

“Never,” he answered immediately, his eyes searching out hers. “I’d never.”

"Because you ain't a bad man anymore."

"Darcy, it ain't that simple."

"You one of them Catholics, Brock Rumlow? You think you gotta do penance for all your sins?" Her tone lilted a little like she was teasing him. 

"There isn't an excuse for what I have done."

"Didn't say there was. If you had continued on that same path, you'd better believe I'd be out that door and never looking back."

Brock pressed his lips together, nodding his head. She wasn't out that door. Not that he could see.

She tilted her head a little. “He’s the one, wasn’t he? The one you killed on purpose?”

He nodded, fighting to keep his gaze on her and not let it drift down to the floor like it wanted.

“Why?” Darcy asked, folding her arms across her middle, her tone wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t judgmental.  It was genuinely quizzical. “If he was like your father…”

He didn’t blame her for asking. He’d asked himself the same thing in the months and years after.

It wasn’t like Brock had planned it. He hadn’t gone into Pierce’s tent intending to end his life.

But Pierce had already passed over him for Jack. There was no reason for Brock to stick around. But it was almost like Pierce had taken for granted that Brock would always be there to head up the second-in-command of Hydra. Brock hadn’t wanted any part of it after Pierce retired. He was ready for it all to be over.

When he finally answered Darcy, his voice cracked a little.

“He  _ was _ like one. But he wasn’t one. Parents are supposed to want the best for their little brats.  I wanted to leave and he said he’d kill me before that happened. He’d already put Rollins in charge and I’d been wanting out for a long time. He thought I was jealous. But he was wrong, I just wanted out.”

“So you shot him?”

Brock nodded, the surprised look on Pierce’s face was forever ingrained in his memory. The way he staggered backward, his hand going to the bullet wound in his chest.  “Never thought you had it in you, boy…” he’d grunted before falling to the ground.

It was pretty soon after that Brock had turned himself in. He’d expected the gallows. But they’d offered him an alternative.

It was shining right there on his chest.

He looked up at her, at a loss for something else to say.

“That’s  _ it _ ?” she asked.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” he asked. “That’s enough to hang a man in some places. You’d never have married me if you’d have known any of that before the wedding.”

“Probably not…” she said, her head nodding in agreement and it nearly killed him. “But, I’d like to think I know you at least a little bit now.”

“You know the  _ new _ me. You don’t know the man back then.”

"I don't need to. He's not the man I married."

 

He scoffed. "The man you married got lucky. Don't make me good."

“Ain’t no one purely good in this world,” she replied.

“Is that someone you want to be with forever, though?”

Darcy sighed heavily. “I’m your wife, Brock. For better or worse. And boy, you’ve given me worse. Lying. Keeping secrets. So you’d better damn well live long enough to give me the better part of this marriage. I think we both deserve it.”

“You deserve better.”

“So give it to me, then,” she said, her tone daring him as her mouth quirked up into a smile.

He almost laughed at that. Only Darcy could make him think about  _ that _ so soon after an argument.

“You sure about that? You worked hard on dinner.”

“We can eat it cold,” she teased.

His chest tightened, and instead of blurting out nonsense that she wasn’t ready to hear, he instead reached for her hand and dragged her over in front of him.

He gently pushed her back to the table, until she bumped against it. Her eyebrows raised. “What are you--”

“Shh… let me do something for you…” he murmured, bringing her legs up to rest on the chair just outside his thighs.

He reached for the buttons on her dress, unbuttoning them down her chest and letting out a little breath when he realized there was no corset to impede him from tugging down the front of her chemise and play with her nipples.

They were dull pink and so very receptive when he rolled the pads of his thumbs over him. He moved forward to take one in his mouth, sucking it softly as her hands came up to rake through his hair.

Brock sucked softly, releasing it with a pop and leaving it glistening for the other one. He kept that up, alternating until her knees spread a little more, whimpering impatiently.

Brock smiled as he reached up under her skirt, undoing the ribbons on her bloomers and pulling them down over her knees. He kept one nipple in his mouth, his left hand on the other as his right hand snuck up under her skirts, between her thighs until he found the slick warmth he’d been seeking.

She moaned softly as two fingers breached her opening. She was so wet, his fingers squelched a little as he crooked them up, his thumb centering over her clit as her thighs shook. “Brock please… take me to bed.”

“No, darlin’. I’m gonna take you right here…”

She whimpered when he lightly pinched her nipple, setting a steady, smooth rhythm, simulating sex with his hand as he moved it in and out of her body.

She bit down on her lip, but he reached up to tug it out again. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

His name was soft on her lips, hips rocking forward as he brought her closer and closer.

His cock was straining against his trousers, begging to be touched. He ached for her.

But even as she was falling apart around his fingers, he didn’t stop, not until she reached down and tugged his hand away, placing her wobbly legs on the ground and standing up over him.  She reached down for his belt, the buttons on his trousers and even if he’d wanted to say no, he couldn’t. 

She pulled him out, pumping him in her hand like he’d shown her, and his head fell back as she straddled him in the chair, her toes barely brushing the ground as she settled in his lap, his cock slowly working into her as she placed her hands on his shoulders, rocking forward so she could brace her toes on the floor and bounce in his lap.

It didn’t take long. Not like this. Not like he was. Hard and leaking and pulsing already when she started fucking him.

Her breasts bounced and she looked thoroughly debauched by the time he finished, pulsing nonstop into her wetness as she gripped his shoulders and rode him for all he was worth.

“Darcy…” he whispered, hardly believing he’d get this again after hiding everything from her like he did.

She laid her head against his shoulder, his softening dick still inside her. “Give me just a second and I’ll get dinner, okay?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Darlin’, you’ve done enough. Go clean up and I’ll get it, okay?”

She pressed her lips together and reached out to cup his cheek, Her eyes scanned his face as she pushed up and walked back to the bedroom to fetch a rag.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, he awoke to the scent of her hair in his face as he blinked awake in the crook of her neck.

He loved her. That much was true. He didn’t feel like it was the right time to tell her just yet. But he loved her. With everything he had.

Brock had fully expected to grow fond of her. But what he hadn’t expected was this all-encompassing need to please her. To do things for her and her only. To protect her.

This thing with Rollins had to end. He was through going about this the nice way. He couldn’t actively go after the man, but a bounty hunter could. He’d talk to Natasha today to see just how much they could scrape together for a bounty on the man.

He reluctantly pulled himself from her embrace after the rooster crowed. She woke up around the same time but laid around in bed while he got dressed. She was up and pulling on clothes when he went out to feed the animals, though. 

When he came back, she had breakfast on the table. Scrambled eggs. “Toast is on the way,” she said, gesturing to the stove.

“I’ll take a piece of that pie too,” he said with a grin. “Pour some milk on it.”

“You’re a sweet tooth for sure, aren’t you?” she teased, cutting him a slab of pie. “Want some with your lunch too?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll save it back for you…” she leaned down to kiss him. “I gotta go milk Bessie, but I’ll see you at lunchtime?”

He nodded, returning the kiss and lingering on her lips, debating on whether or not he should tell her. Tell her how much he loved her and adored her and worshipped every step she took. He didn’t though, just watched her walk out with the milk pail as he shoveled in his breakfast and got the toast from the stove before it burned.

Slathering two pieces with butter and jam, he smashed them together to eat on the ride in, before heading out to grab Whisper.

Oddly enough, the gate was wide open. He snickered a little. She was getting the hang of this farm life thing, but there were still mistakes she made sometimes. It wasn’t no matter. Whisper’d never run off, and it just saved him a trip to the barn. He closed the gate over, blew a kiss in that direction, and climbed up on Whisper, riding off the property and up to the sheriff’s office.

The ride in was downright serene. Something that boded well for his day, which would likely be spent figuring out what his and Natasha’s next move would be. Probably going around to all the farms and enlisting some of the able-bodied men into some kind of militia. Maybe sending out telegrams to the other towns, seeing if any of them would be willing to part with some deputies.

He hitched up Whisper and looked up when he heard quick footsteps.

Natasha skidded to a halt in front of him. “You need to come and see this.”

He sighed, his good mood evaporating as he gave Whisper a pat and followed Nat into the office. Whatever fresh hell awaited him, he’d figure it out and proceed with his planning.

Wordlessly, she led him back to the cells. The full cells.

Problem was, they were empty the night before.

And now, they were packed to the brim with dead guys.

None of them looked familiar, so maybe that was a good thing. But the bad thing was, Rollins hadn’t just sat on making the first move. He’d made the second one too. Which meant Brock was now behind.

Brock reached up to remove his hat, letting it drop to his side with a huff. “Well shit. Hydra?”

“Has to be…” Natasha said. “They left one in the first cell. Two in the second, four in the third, and if I’m not mistaken, eight in the fourth. When you chop off one head…”

“Two more take its place…” Brock finished, replacing his hat on his head. “Any of them local?”

Natasha shook her head. “Nope. All out-of-towners.”

“They’re somebody’s son. Maybe brothers. Husbands. Someone’s missin’ ‘em.”

“Yep. Want me to call the doctor?”

“Yeah. Send for Dr. Foster. This’ll be a helluva wake-up call.”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s what she signed up for, isn’t it? Said she came from combat medicine.”

“This is just about as declarative of war as anything, I’d say.”

“War?”

“War with us. War with me. Rollins showed up at my farm yesterday. I’d better run home and fetch Darcy. Just to be sure.  I’ll leave her with Tony, out of harm’s way.”

Natasha nodded. “Good idea. Want me to ride out and get her?”

“Yeah, do that now. She probably just got done the milking, so she might be in the barn.”

“You got it, boss. I’ll be back in a jiffy. You want me to bring her here to see you, or send her to Tony immediately?”

“Send her to Tony. She doesn’t need to see all this… Go wake up the Doc too. Send her down here. I’d better not leave the building until we know where Rollins is. Can’t chance that he’ll pop another sixteen bodies down on the floor in the time after I leave.”

Natasha nodded and ran out to hop on her horse.

Dr. Foster arrived around twenty minutes later after Brock had started pulling one of the men from the fourth cell block to the first, so they could get them separated out.

“How many of them have you moved?” Dr. Foster asked, strolling into the jail like she damn well owned the place.

“Just him,” he replied, frowning a little.

“Put him back. We need to make note of where each of them was. It might be a pattern.”

“I doubt it. Their pattern is apparent. One then doubled to two, then doubled to four, then doubled to eight. You cut off one head, two more take its place.” He shrugged. “These men aren’t even local.”

“Well, still. Just in case there’s a pattern, let’s mark down which man wearing what was where.”

Brock sighed, he really just wanted to get these men out of his jail before they started stinking. He’d have to get a cart, take them down to the church. Move the pews. Get them laid out in the sanctuary until the sheriffs from other towns could come looking.

But Dr. Foster was new. And if she wanted to take some quick notes, he’d let her.

He pulled the man back where he was and she pulled out her notebook.

Meanwhile, someone was knocking on the door of the sheriff’s office, so he turned and went to go check it out. A boy was standing on the landing. Nervous as hell and holding something in his hand. A parcel.

“Delivery for Sheriff Rumlow?” the boy said, his voice shaking a little.

“How much do I owe ya?” he asked, reaching for his keys to open his desk and pull out some coin for the boy.

“No charge. Just take it.” He pushed the package in Brock’s hands. Brock turned the thing over in his hands, feeling the paper crinkle and squish around the soft contents.

It felt like cloth. Clothing.

He was just pulling open the paper when Natasha rode up, fast as hell, nearly falling as she pulled her horse around. “Brock! Brock!”

The paper fell away and left in his hands was the contents. It made his heart stop. His blood ran cold. He looked up at Natasha, already knowing what she was going to say before she even got the chance.

“They took Darcy! She’s gone. I looked everywhere, Brock. Everywhere.” Her shoulders were squared, but her voice was breaking. “Everywhere, I promise.”

He glanced down at the garment in his hand.  Darcy’s bonnet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffie! See you next week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9!!!!
> 
> I tried to pull y'all up from the cliff I left you on last week. This is Darcy's POV.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Darcy**

* * *

Darcy woke up when Brock started to slide from the bed. It was hard not to wake up when one’s pillow started slipping away. She knew he had no choice, that he had to get to work, but she still wanted a few more minutes with him.

She’d lain there, wrapped in the quilts and watching him get dressed in the morning light, the sun’s rays casting thin strips of brightness on his nude form. He pulled on a set of long johns, something he pulled from the trunk at the bottom of the bed before he got the rest of his clothing on. Trousers, shirt, vest. A jacket he also pulled from the trunk. Winter clothing that had to come out because it was getting a little bit colder now that fall was upon them.

Darcy could just make out the lines of his muscle. The pinkish scars on his ribs and hips before the long johns covered everything up.

Even when he was putting on clothing, her husband was a sight to behold.

Her belly swooped at the thought that she was the only one who got to see it.

Once he left the room, Darcy got dressed in a rush. She wanted to see Brock before he left and before she had to milk the cow. She couldn’t lay in bed all morning daydreaming about her husband. Not if she wanted to get everything done that needed doing.

As she was pulling her skirt on over her bloomers, she eyed the hat box on the vanity table. With the memory of Jack Rollins’ visit the day before, she crossed the floor to the table.  She took the lid from the box and reached inside, pulling out her revolver.

It likely needed a cleaning, but she could get to that after the milking. It was enough to protect her for now, anyway.

She jammed the gun into the pocket of her skirt.  It bumped against her thigh slightly when she walked, but the weight wasn’t so much that it kept her from doing what she needed.

Rollins was unlikely to come back by here again, but she wanted to be prepared if he did.

Once she’d finished getting dressed, she walked out into the kitchen, surprising Brock as he poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. “Good morning,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward when he saw her. Not a smile yet, but the beginnings of one.

“Morning,” she replied, giving him a full grin to coax his out of hiding.

It worked. He was beaming when he leaned down to kiss her. He’d lingered on her lips for long enough that she’d entertained the possibility of getting him to take her on the kitchen table again. But, in the end, he’d pulled away and reality set in once more. She had a load of chores to get to before she could see him again at lunchtime.

After kissing him again, goodbye this time, she grabbed the milk pail and turned to walk out to the barn. Darcy swinging the pail as she walked out towards the barn. She pulled the gate closed behind her. No reason to let Whisper escape while she was milking Bessie.

Not that Whisper would run off, but Darcy was starting to think like a homesteader’s wife. Or at least, she felt like she was. There were still some things she would need help with. Things that would become apparent as winter rolled in.

She walked around the back of the barn to where Bessie was mooing impatiently. “C’mon, you fat old thing,” she said, reaching for her neck to guide her into the barn. Hooking the pail’s handle around her elbow, Darcy wrenched the barn door open and lead Bessie in behind her.

When Bessie wanted to be milked, it wasn’t so much leading as being pulled, but she made do. She got the cow inside and into the milking yoke. She was turning to reach for the milking stool when it happened.

A man stepped out of one of the empty stalls. He was tall. Very tall, but she didn’t recognize him. Couldn’t place him farther than she could throw him. Which wasn’t far at all.

He had dark hair. A handkerchief over his mouth.

Alarmed, Darcy swang the milking pail around and caught him in the side of the head. He went down, clutching his ear and Darcy turned to run, only to slam into the chest of another man. She tried to swing the bucket this time, but he caught her arm and twisted it. He was also tall. Dark haired. Handkerchief over his face too. He smelled like smoke and sweat.

He was wearing a filthy blue plaid shirt, that much she could see as his arm wrapped around her neck.

Gasping as she tried to scream, she went down.

She felt her knees hit the dirt floor as Bessie’s mooing began to fade.

 

* * *

 

Her vision came back like a pinpoint, and as everything slowly came back, she started to yank at her arms, which were held back behind her back.  She kicked her leg out, only to have it kicked again. “Be still, will ya?”

She didn’t really recognize the voice, but she didn’t know where she was either. She couldn’t remember what she’d been doing. 

The smell of Bessie was still fresh in her mind, even though she didn’t smell it anymore. Perhaps she’d fallen down in the barn? Brock had found her?

“Brock?” she croaked. But even as her voice made the word, she knew it wasn’t right. Brock wasn’t here. She didn’t recognize this place. Not their barn. Not their home. Not the sheriff’s station. Not even the doctor’s office, if the dirt floor was any indication.

Her mouth was dry as she looked around the unkempt room. This definitely wasn’t anywhere she recognized.

A low snicker sounded from her left, and the footsteps started to echo in the room as they slowly moved closer. A jingle thump that told her it wasn’t Brock. He didn’t wear spurs. It wasn’t Brock. Not Brock. This was wrong. She wrestled even harder with her arms, confused as to what was holding them down, keeping her from moving.

The owner of a pair of black spurred boots squatted down beside her, and she tried her hardest to focus on his face. Slowly, dark eyes and an even darker grin came into focus. He looked the same as he had on the farm the day before. But he looked different at the same time.

Rollins.

She shook her head, trying like hell to move away from him.

He chuckled. “Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me, darling? Well. I just couldn't stand to stay away. You’re so enchanting.” He reached out to grab her chin. To force her to look at him.

He spat the words like poison, so Darcy knew he didn’t mean a syllable of what he said. But she supposed she’d have known that regardless of how they were spoken.

“You took out one of my best men, you know. Pain in the ass bringing you here. Busted his eardrum. He can’t hear out of one of his ears now. Useless as a lookout.”

“Good,” she replied, glaring up at him.

His grin fell, fingers squeezing hard and pulling her chin forward. “I think you’ll find that things will go by much less painfully for you if you keep your mouth shut.”

Darcy surprised herself with how level-headed she could be in the face of pure evil. She’d never before been in a situation such as this one, had never guessed that something of this sort was what awaited her when she’d answered Brock’s letters.

But there must have been something deep inside her that was primed for just such an occasion.

Because Darcy  _ did _ keep her mouth shut.

After spitting in his face.

Rollins didn’t care for that at all. The sting from his hand was worth the look on his face. It gave her the sincerest pleasure of knowing he was surprised by her boldness. He left her then, swearing under his breath and reaching into his pocket for a kerchief to wipe his face. 

She fell back onto the floor, realizing with a burst of belated logic that her hands were  _ tied _ behind her, not held. She could lean back without worrying about another person being there. 

She was laying on the dirt floor inside some shack somewhere. That much was apparent by the dirt beneath her body, and the uninsulated, unfilled wooden plank walls around her.

When the wind blew, the entire structure whistled and shook like it was going to fall down.

There was one doorway across from her, either standing wide open or without anything to block it at all. She couldn’t tell where she was by the small view she was awarded through the doorway, but as far as she could tell, it looked like a forest clearing.

A forest clearing full of the Hydra gang.

Obsessing about escape wouldn’t help her now. She needed to figure out how to survive this. Closing her eyes, she wriggled against the floor. Her toes. Her legs. Flexing her fingers. Testing for injuries… or worse.

She felt sore. Bruised. But not violated.

The shifting of her hips didn’t clue her into any soreness that was undue. 

That part was important. She’d likely been manhandled, judging by the soreness in her face, chest, and arms. But none of them had pulled up her skirts. Which was a blessing in and of itself?

_ For many reasons… _ she thought as she tried to ascertain whether or not her revolver was still in her pocket.

The revolver she hadn’t even thought to use in the barn that morning.

Her cheeks burned in shame as she silently berated herself for not pulling it out.

She tried to steady her breathing, even as something warm dripped from her nose. Blood, judging by the spots on the floor.

Luckily, she could feel the weight of the gun on her hip.

It was still in her pocket where she’d left it. 

Now, it only had six bullets. So even if she could get her hands free to grab it, she wouldn't be able to kill everyone in this camp. Because judging by the people milling around outside the shack’s doorway, there were at least forty to fifty men. Probably more, she wasn’t really up for counting and every dirty, grimy man looked the same to her.

So for the time being, her only option was to lay low. To keep from getting kicked again. And to not talk or give away anything inadvertently about Brock.

Boy, was she happy Brock had confided in her the night before though. Coming into this blind, she might have gotten herself killed. Now that she knew Brock’s history with the gang and with Rollins, well… she had a card in her hand that they didn’t know about. Add that to the gun, and she had some pretty good odds. All she needed to do was to convince one of these morons to unlock her chains.

Judging by the sun’s position directly overhead, she hadn’t been gone long. But long enough for Brock to notice. If nothing else, he’d come home for lunch and find her missing.

So he was out looking for her.

When she saw an opportunity, she’d fucking take it.

 

* * *

 

She actually didn’t have to wait long for an opportunity.

Well, relatively, not long.  A few hours had passed. Noon had come and gone, and they were halfway through the afternoon by the time the opportunity presented itself.

Opportunity, as it turned out, was a woman.

Darcy wasn’t in the least bit surprised.

The woman was wearing trousers and had her gun holsters on a belt slung low on her hips. A buttoned-up man’s shirt and a vest. She reminded Darcy of Natasha in every way except one. This woman had blonde hair. Long and greasy and tied up in a braid that hung over her shoulder.

She smelled of gun oil and lavender. The scent wafted over as the woman knelt down in the shack with Darcy. She recognized the woman as someone who had passed the doorway numerous times that day.  But she’d waited until the guard was changing to come inside. IN fact, she’d relieved the man who had been sitting there for a few hours. 

The guy left willingly enough, leaving Darcy in the woman’s care.

The blonde woman wasted no time. She knelt down beside Darcy and whispered. “Just glare at me like I”m berating you under my breath, okay?”

It wasn’t a hard look to fake. Darcy had been sporting some form of it all day long.

The woman shoved something into her face. A metal dipper from the bucket she was carrying.  “It’s water. Drink.”

Darcy took a swallow and winced when the woman wiped the blood from her face with a handkerchief. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? But you have to tell me… how’s Natasha?”

“What?” Darcy peered up at her with narrowed eyes.

“Natasha. I know you’ve met her if you’re Brock’s wife. How is she?”

Darcy didn’t answer, but whatever reaction she’d given her seemed to appease the woman. “Look, I’m glad she’s okay. Glad she’s doing alright. I hear she’s Brock’s deputy? I just… didn't know if you were on speaking terms with her. You don’t have to tell me. Shit, I wouldn’t tell me if were you.”

Darcy didn’t say a word. Didn’t want to. The woman was right, she didn’t trust her. Darcy’s lack of a response didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest.

“Look, I’m sorry Rollins hurt you. He wouldn’t let me in here while he was talking to you. I’ll do my damnedest to make sure he doesn’t do it again, okay? I’m going to get you out of here. Back home where you belong. This is Rollins’ fight. He needs to keep people out of it who aren’t involved.”

“ _ Who _ are you?” Darcy finally asked, accepting another sip from the water scoop.

“Barbara. Bobbi for short,” the woman replied.

Darcy still didn’t trust her. So she eyed her warily.

“Look… Natasha and I… we were together. You know… together? As men and women are, but--”

“But you’re  _ women _ ?” Darcy asked, shooting her a look. “I’m not so naive as all that, Barbara. And I ain’t about to start judging people either. Last time I checked, that ain’t my job. Natasha’s a hell of a woman. Anyone’d be lucky.”

She smiled. It was a small expression. Nothing anyone could pick up if they weren’t right in front of her like Darcy was. But it was a smile nonetheless. “It’s Bobbi, not Barbara.”

“We’ll see.”

The blonde chuckled. “Oh, you know Natasha. No woman with a sharp tongue like that wouldn’t get on her good side.”

“Not on her best side, not like you were. But she’s a friend.” Darcy revealed. She probably shouldn’t have, but Barbara/Bobbi knowing that she knew Natasha couldn’t work in any way except positively. There were more people with guns looking for her than just Brock. Maybe it would be alright.

“So Nat and I were together and Brock… when he wanted to leave, Nat went with him.”

Darcy tried not to let the surprise show on her face. She had known Brock’s story, but not Natasha’s.  Maybe Brock just thought that Natasha’s story was hers to tell so he left it out. Whatever it was, she was finding it out now.

“Nat left. I stayed. I thought Brock would get us killed. Especially since he was going to turn himself in. But Nat didn’t want this life anymore. And it killed me to watch her leave and think  I wasn't ever going to see her again.”

Darcy watched Bobbi gulp, taking the water scoop and dropping it back in the bucket.

“But Brock kept her safe. And I’m going to return the favor, I’m gonna get you away from Rollins. So we’re even, you know? I know you probably don’t believe me right now.”

_ Damn straight _ , Darcy thought.

“And you shouldn’t. But I know you ain't getting outta here without some help. And I’m all you got, so do we have a deal? You’re gonna actually have to talk to me at some point, Mrs. Rumlow.”

“ _ Why _ are you helping me?” Darcy asked. “I know, an eye for an eye, a woman for a woman…”

“Love for love.”

Darcy scoffed. “Brock and me aren’t in love. Not yet.”

Bobbi smiled. “Oh, honey. If you ain’t yet, you will be.”

“What’s in it for you, though? I can’t force Nat to take you back.”

“I wouldn't ask you to, this ain’t even about me and Nat. I just want me and Brock square even if I don't make it out of here.”

Darcy’s heart was still pounding in her chest. The doubt that lodged there would probably need days to soften. But she didn’t have days. She had hours. Minutes. She’d have to ignore it. “What should I do?”

She kept her mouth shut about the gun. That secret was one she needed. No one could know she had that gun until she needed to use it.

Bobbi looked relieved that she was going to allow her to help. “I’ll cut you loose sometime tonight. I’ll point you in the right direction and you run until you hit Serpent Flats.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t. You just have to.  That’s what trust is, sweetheart.” Bobbi straightened and went back to her watch, leaving Darcy with plenty to think about.

 

* * *

 

True to her word, Bobbi shook Darcy awake in the middle of the night.

Her shackles were unlocked and Darcy was pulled to her feet, an arm protectively around her as they ran from the cabin and noiselessly through the camp.

Darcy wouldn't have known it was Bobbi if it wasn’t for the soft scent of gun oil and lavender.  Bobbi grabbed Darcy’s shoulders and spun her. She gripped her hard and leaned down to whisper, “That’s west.  Sun’s going to come up behind you in about two hours. When it does. Run from it. Rum from the sun and you’ll find yourself at home. Now go.”

She pushed her roughly and Darcy took off, not looking back. She half expected someone to shoot her in the back, but nothing happened. No yelling ensued, and she just ran. Ran and ran and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, she's still not safe, but I figured this would give us some hope, anyway? <3
> 
> Leave me some sugar if you liked it!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO CHAPTER 10!!!
> 
> And if you'll glance up at the chapter count, you'll see there's an end in sight! I have the rest of this fic outlined and I know exactly where it's going! <3 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, it's from Brock's perspective. Please mind the new tags. <3

**Brock**

* * *

Brock sighed as he straightened his back. He felt a tightness in his shoulders that definitely wasn’t there the previous morning.

The night was giving way into the early dawn hours. No roosters had crowed, but they were about to.

And Darcy was nowhere to be found.

His heart kept racing. Kept trying to beat out of his chest. To get to Darcy in any way it could. It was that tightness that kept him from mounting up on Whisper and riding off into the wilderness to find her.

Nevermind that he had no idea where the Hydra Camp was. If he’d been alone and left to his own--probably terrible--devices, he reckoned riding back and forth through the woods on the outskirts of Serpent Flats would get him there eventually, but he and Whisper would likely be exhausted in the process.

But at least he’d be doing something. Looking for her. It was almost like he was letting her down, not doing a thing to find her and instead moving the dead men’s bodies from the sheriff’s station and dumping them on the floor of the church. As gently as possible, as per Dr. Foster’s orders. But still. Moving bodies felt like the last thing he should be doing right now. Even if it was the right thing for a sheriff to do.

As a sheriff, he needed to stop Hydra from what they’d evolved into under Rollins’s rule. As a husband, he needed to find Darcy. Find her fast. Quick. Get her out of danger’s way. 

One guess as to which role was pulling ahead mentally. Physically, he couldn’t quite make it happen. He was still lugging bodies. Because the logical part of his brain told him he couldn’t do a damn thing for Darcy if he was exhausted out of his mind. He needed more information.

Still, it was awful feeling this helpless. Like he couldn't do a thing to save the woman he loved.

Yes, he loved her. And he was a stupid ass for not telling her sooner.

Footsteps entered the church behind him, and Brock turned to see Tony standing in the doorway.  He’d been the one to offer up horses and carts to transport the dead men from the jail to here, so it had really been just a question of how quickly Brock, Nat, and he could move them.

Jane was milling around each body, making notes on eye color, hair color, and their clothing. All things to help aid in identification.

These men deserved that, at least.

Brock knew that. No matter how his bones felt ready to leap from his body and run out into the woods to find his wife.

He forced himself back into the moment, Sheriff Rumlow. The law in this town. Not Brock Rumlow, husband to Darcy, who was missing. It was killing him, having to be one person, when all the wanted… all he could think about was being another.

His heart stuttered in his chest, a deep ache blooming where his heart was. Where Darcy was.

Sheriff now. Husband later.

The dead men’s bodies all looked relatively clean. Super clean, if he was being honest, but that didn’t mean anything. There was the odd spot of mud or the like on their britches and shirts but besides that, they almost looked like they were going to church. No grime or sweat stains on the fabric.

Natasha entered the sanctuary soon after Tony, staring pointedly at the back of Brock’s head. But she hung back until he turned to face her.

“We should start rounding up a militia,” she said. “We haven’t heard nothing back from the other towns, and there’s no time to waste.”

“I know that. You think I don’t know that?” he asked, feeling bad for snapping at her immediately after it happened. She barely reacted. It was something he liked about her. She was understanding. Even when he was an ass. Which he usually was.

“I could go around farm-to-farm, ask for their able-bodied men with guns…” she said. “Or women.”

Brock shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “Do what you need to do, Nat.”

“I know you don’t want to ask these people but you and I can’t go up against the entire Hydra gang on our own. We need bodies. Guns.”

“Horses?” Tony added. “I’ll flat out  _ give _ a horse to anyone who joins you. How’s that for incentive? They can keep it when they come back. Free horse. It feels like the least I could do. You know I’d join you myself…”

“You can’t,” Natasha said, smiling. “But I thank you for your offer. If you were to die, your family’d suffer. This is more than enough help. Thank you, Tony.”

“Wish it could be more,” he said, shuffling uncomfortably. “The thought of those guys grabbing Mrs. Rumlow makes me sick.”

_ Him and me both _ , Brock thought to himself.

“We’re gonna get her back,” Natasha assured Tony, turning to make sure Brock heard her too. “We are.”

“We will,” Brock replied, turning towards the door. He had some guns and ammo back at the station he needed to go pick up. “You go round up some people Nat. Meet me back at the station for ammo if they need it.”

“You got it, boss,” Natasha replied, turning to leave.  Tony followed her, which left Brock and Jane walking around the church. The doctor wasn’t paying any attention to him, so he might as well go. Round up some ammo and wait for the militia.

He was about to go when she stopped him. “I haven’t been here long. Not long enough to explore. Tell me, is there a lake near Serpent Flats? Or a water tower nearby?”

“Water tower, you can see from here. The lake’s about four miles east of town,” Brock replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I found algae on the bodies,” Jane said, pinching something green out of the chest pocket of one of the dead men. “Same algae’s on all of them. I recognize it. Can grow in water towers where the water only gets used for trains. Can also grow in lakes with no rivers or streams to move the water.”

“The water tower here’s only for emergencies. For fires. It’s not big enough inside to store this many bodies…now, that lake out east has a few streams that run into it in the spring. But in the fall, it starts drying up.”

“I think the bodies were kept there. Not long. Because they aren’t bloated. But they were kept there. Explains the lack of staining on the clothes. And the mud.”

He pursed his lips briefly. “Tell Natasha that when she gets back.”

“Can’t you?” Jane asked.

Brock shook his head. “Nah, I’m gonna head out.”

“On your own?”

He ignored that last question like he hadn’t heard it, walking faster and faster until he was damn near running down the street for his horse. He grabbed a rifle and his six-shooter from his desk. And bullets enough to fill his pockets.

Mounting Whisper, he headed due east, just as the roosters started crowing.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take him too long to find the lake in question. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when Brock rode up to the lake, pulling Whisper to a halt well out of earshot. Not that they would have heard her hooves anyway, with the ruckus that was being raised in the camp itself. He could hear men yelling and shots being fired, so he figured he was in the right place.

Brock knew he shouldn’t run in guns-a-blazing, but Darcy was in that camp somewhere. He needed to find her and get her out first of all.

That certainly wouldn’t be easy with Rollins around.

He felt a twinge of panic as he stood there, watching the chaos unfold in the camp. He wished he’d waited on Natasha to get the calvary together. He could have lured Rollins out while she got Darcy to safety. But he couldn’t change that now. For all he knew, Natasha was right behind him, anyway.

He was here now. There was no time for tactics. He had to try and sneak in.

As he crept closer on foot, he realized that the entire camp was in disorder. What he’d thought was just regular Hydra antics were actually men scared. Men trying to keep their leader from blowing their heads off. He couldn’t say he was surprised by the revelation, but it could make it easier for him.

It could also make it harder, so he tried not to get his hopes up too much.

He spotted Rollins in the middle of the campsite, near a smoldering fire, the circles of tents made rings around him, and every man in the camp had at least one eye on their leader. He looked like a madman waving his gun in the air and dragging someone along by the hair behind him.

From here, it looked like a woman, and Rumlow saw red for a second, stalking forward as his brain tried to scan the rest of the woman at the end of Rollins’ hand.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him when he realized that the woman he was studying wasn’t his wife. She didn’t hold herself like Darcy. Not at all. And now that he was really looking, she wasn’t wearing what Darcy had been wearing when he’d left the house.

But still. Rollins had a woman, dragging her around by her hair.

And if that wasn’t her, it meant that Darcy was somewhere else in this camp.

He crept nearer, losing his tree cover as he moved closer and closer to the camp. The tents around him looked like something had run them over, with stuff strewn everywhere.

Rollins fired two shots into the air and yelled loudly into the treetops. The men skittered to a halt, staring at him.

“I want her  _ found _ ,” he bellowed. “She couldn’t have gone far…”

The woman in his clutches muttered something from the ground and he yanked her up to her feet. “What was that? Morse? You got something to say? Say it loud for the people in the back, darlin’.”

The woman’s voice carried clear as a bell. “ _ I said _ I set her off before the sun rose. So she’s probably back home by now.”

Brock frowned. Was she talking about Darcy? She had to be.

“She isn’t either. She’s probably eaten by bears by now,” Rollins snarled and shook the woman’s head in his hand.

Brock felt something let loose in his chest.  She wasn’t here. Darcy wasn’t here. That woman… she looked familiar… she had double-crossed Rollins.

And Darcy wasn’t here.

She wasn’t home yet either, as far as he could tell. But she wasn’t here. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

Brock had no idea where his wife was. He hadn’t passed her on the way out here, so what did that mean?

He didn’t have much time to think about it. Because while he was mulling it over, Rollins turned towards him, seemingly picking him out from the sea of bodies.

Rollins grinned and dropped the woman to the ground again.  She stumbled, but couldn’t get away before he caught her arm and yanked her back to her feet. He twisted it behind her back, proceeding to walk her forward. “Doesn’t matter,” he said with a grin. “The bait worked anyway. He’s here.”

All the faces of Hydra turned to look at him. Some he recognized, others were newer.

None of them did anything more than reach for their guns, but it was enough to get his blood pumping. Not that he could let Rollins know that.

Brock chuckled. “You couldn’t even hold onto a hostage for one day, Jack? What kind of a leader are you?”

Rollins marched the woman closer, ignoring Brock’s jibes. “You poaching my people? Trying to rot this gang from the inside out? Huh?” He pushed the woman even closer and Brock could see now who it was. Bobbi Morse. Her eyes met his, but she didn’t say anything. Her holsters were empty. Guns lost to her.

Just as well for Jack. She’d have probably blown his head off.

Brock gathered from the way Rollins was treating her, she’d been the one to help Darcy escape.

Bless her.

He glanced back up at Rollins and grinned. “Now wouldn’t you rather hit me instead of hitting a woman? A woman you disarmed because you know damn well she’s a better shot than you could ever hope to be?”

Rollins took the bait, but he didn’t let Bobbi go like Rumlow had hoped. Instead, he kicked the backs of her knees and she went down hard on the dirt.

“You got your precious little wifey back?” Rollins asked. “We had some fun with her first, dunno if she’s told you about that.”

Rumlow felt his blood start to boil, but he didn’t make a move to strike yet. “I wasn’t aware you knew how to have fun with a woman.”

That did it.

Jack reached for his own gun, extending it and pointing it right at Brock. There was about a dozen or so yards between them or Brock might have been worried.

Jack never was good at aiming when he was upset. 

And Brock had definitely gotten him upset.

The shot rang out in the quiet, echoing through the trees as the bullet nicked his shoulder a little deeper than he’d been wanting. It bled a lot more than he was wanting, too.

Or maybe Rollins had gotten better. Unless that shot was meant for Brock’s head.

He grunted but fought not to reach for the wound. To cradle his arm. His rifle dropped from his hand though. Fucking nerves.

Instead, he summoned all the cold hatred Pierce had taught him to show and laughed. “You never was a good shot, Jack. Leadership suits you. You can delegate the better shots to everyone else.”

“I ain't about to delegate this to anyone else.  _ I’m _ gonna take you down. And I’m gonna go take your wife again. And I’m gonna take your town and shoot your horse and kill everything that means anything to you, you bastard.”

Brock reached for his six-shooter and Rollins saw, turning the gun to the back of Bobbi’s head. “You move, I shoot her. You gotta tell Nat you let her girl get shot. That you watched her pretty little brains get sprayed all over the dirt.”

Bobbi’s eyes were squeezed shut, and she was mumbling something. A prayer. Everyone got real religious when they thought they were gonna die. If Bobbi was scared of Rollins shooting her, it must have been for real.

And even a shit shot like Jack couldn’t miss point-blank.

Brock acted before he’d fully thought about it. Eyeing the bare skin of Jack’s wrist and aiming there. But before he could get the shot off, Rollins pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. The gun jammed.

Bobbi looked like she was about to puke, but Rollins didn’t let it bother him or hinder him in the slightest. He raised the gun over his head and brought it down on Bobbi’s with a crack.

She fell to the ground in a tumble of limbs.

“You only ever wanted control of this gang. You were pissed that Pierce picked me.”

“If that’s what you gotta tell yourself,” Brock said. “I never wanted this life. I wanted out.”

His shoulder ached, his sleeve was wet with blood as he kept glancing down at Bobbi in the dirt, seeing her shoulder rise with every breath.

Rollins shook his head and tossed his gun to the side. “Come over here and fight me like a man. Don’t shoot a man with no way to arm himself, Sheriff.”

In retrospect, Brock should have just shot him between the eyes and been done with it.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that beating in Jack Rollins’s head would feel better than blowing it off.

So Brock dropped his gun and lunged at Rollins. He hauled back and punched the idiot right in the nose. He felt the bones crunch. The wet spurt of blood and he grinned and repeated it, knocking Rollins back.

Rumlow leaped on top of him, his knee pressing right into his chest as he hauled back to punch him again.

Jack brought one leg up, kneeing him right in the stones and sucker punching him in the shoulder where he’d already shot him.

The pain exploded from his wound, causing him to suck in air loudly. Gasp. To reach up and grab his shoulder without realizing it.

Brock gasped for air as pain closed in around him. Like a dark red blanket blocking out the sun.

Jack rolled over on top of him, lowering his hand and bringing a searing pain into Brock’s chest as he did. When he brought his hand back, it was with a bloody dagger clutched in it.

Brock tried to breathe, but couldn’t. Kept sucking air in and nothing happened. No relief from the building pressure as his vision narrowed. He scrambled to one side as Jack pressed his knee against his bad shoulder, his fingers grazing the handle of his gun as he struggled to bring it up to aim it.

Didn’t need to aim it, just needed to startle him. To get him off his chest.

As he struggled, a gunshot rang out, and Brock gasped, thinking the worst. Someone had shot him. He was dying. Someone…

Rollins fell forward, his head hitting the ground right beside Brock’s.

There was a scramble of feet. Some distant yelling as someone yanked the body off him. 

As his vision narrowed to pinpoints, he caught sight of a very familiar face.

Which was why he was pretty sure he was dying. No way was she all the way out here.

“Darcy,” he gasped, his voice no louder than a whisper.

“Brock. Brock. Stay here. Stay with me.” she said. “Stay here.”

He wasn’t going anywhere, what was she rambling about. He just wanted her to hush so he could tell her. Tell her how much he loved her. Loved her like the sun. Like life itself.

“Look at me, baby…” He knew she was pressing on something. The stab wound in his chest. But he couldn’t feel anything. Didn’t feel like his body.

“I love you, Darcy… Darcy... I love you,” he rasped.

“I love you too, but you stay here with me, Brock… Brock???”

His vision narrowed even further, leaving him in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me some sugar!!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late, I was barely home yesterday.
> 
> Not an excuse, since this was ready to post yesterday morning and I completely forgot. *hides*
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy Darcy's POV of the last chapter.

**Darcy**

* * *

The sun was just starting to peek up over the horizon when Darcy’s aching feet stumbled on the dirt road into the outskirts of Serpent Flats.

At the sight of the shadowy little town, made all the darker by the sun at her back, she wanted to cry just from relief, but she didn’t really find the time for emotional outbursts. Just as she rounded the corner by Brock’s sheriff’s station, she ran face-first into Natasha’s horse. The animal was super tame, because it didn’t rear back all the way, didn’t kick her in the face like she surely deserved for surprising it like she had.

Crying out, Darcy fell backward, her teeth rattling hollowly in her had as Natasha pulled her horse around again, calming it with gentle shushes as she backed up and hopped down.

“Darcy? Holy mother… is that you?” Her voice sounded relieved. Surprised. All those emotions one felt when the thing that happened exceeded your expectations. Darcy wouldn’t have been surprised if they all thought she was dead.

Regardless, she couldn’t answer, but she nodded, a shuddering sob breaking the silence as Natasha swiftly moved from her horse’s side to attend her. Nat’s arms were warm as she embraced her, tugging Darcy to her feet and dusting her off. The latter act was almost too little, too late, given how filthy Darcy was from her kidnapping and subsequent imprisonment and escape.

“We’ve got to get you inside and laying down.  I’ll get someone to run for Dr. Foster…”

Darcy suddenly stopped moving, glancing around at the crowd of men and women with guns who were following Natasha.“Where’s Brock?” she asked. “He should be here…”

The last little bit felt unnecessary. Of course, he should be here, he was the sheriff.

Natasha shook her head. “I have no idea on that front, half-pint. He was supposed to meet us here at the station for ammo.” She slipped her arm around Darcy’s shoulders and helped her to the door of the station. She turned to address her next command over Darcy’s head. “One of y’all go get the Doctor, she’s at the church.”

One of Natasha’s companions took off on horseback down to the other end of the town.

“Where were you?” Natasha asked, leading her through the door of the empty sheriff’s station and seating her on a wooden bench.

Darcy sighed with relief as her muscles finally started to relax. Just a little bit. Given that she had no idea where her husband was, she was about to step into a whole new mess of worries.

“With Rollins,” Darcy replied softly. He sent some men to come snatch me from the farm this morning.”

“Must have been booking it, because I didn’t see hide nor hair of ‘em when I came out there,” Nat said with a sniff. “Didn’t see hide nor hair of you, either. Gave me quite a scare.”

“Brock was still in the house when they grabbed me,” Darcy said softly, her hands shaking as she reached down to grip the side hems of her skirt. “He was there and I didn’t even think to yell for him…”

Natasha’s arm went protectively around her shoulder. “No, no. None of that, Darcy. This isn’t your fault. Not in the slightest.”

“After they got me, they took me out to their camp?  They chained my hands. Kicked me…” Darcy’s lip wobbled. “Rollins… he’s unhinged. I don’t have a comparison for him right now, but even to me, he seemed like he was losing his grip.”

Natasha nodded slowly, sympathetically. “He’s always been one apple short of a bushel, but I think he’s panicking now that his plan didn’t work.  How did you escape?”

Darcy’s lips tugged up att he memory. “A woman helped me. A woman named Bobbi.  She said she knew you?” She turned to crack a small smile at Natasha. “Blonde woman.”

Natasha’s eyes widened and she tightened her grip on Darcy’s shoulder. “Bobbi, huh? What did she say?”

“Lots of things. I didn’t believe her most of the time, I, unfortunately, wasn’t very trusting of anyone I met in that camp…”

“I don’t blame you in that,” Natasha reassured her. “Can’t have been easy.”

Darcy continued. “But she said she hoped this would make things square with you and her. That she wished she’d come with Brock and you all those years ago…”

Natasha lowered her head for a long moment before nodding and wrapping both arms around Darcy. “Thank you for telling me that.” While she and Natasha were close, this was the biggest display of raw emotion she’d ever seen the other woman exude. It was just a shame that she felt as dull as a rusty blade and ill-equipped to handle.

After this was all over, Darcy decided she was hugging Natasha, whether she knew it or not. 

Hoofsteps outside brought Jane on the back of that militiaman's horse to the front door of the station.

She hopped down, smiling warmly as she approached the two women. “Glad to see you’re back, Mrs. Rumlow.”

Darcy tried to respond but didn’t get more than a nod in. Dr. Foster didn’t seem to care, though.

She started examining Darcy, patting her down and glancing up in alarm when she found the gun in her pocket. Darcy laughed a little and reached down to pull it out. “Had it with me the whole time. Never once thought to use it when my hands were free.” She handed it to Natasha, who laid it on the table across from them.

“Well, that’s fine. It’s still good you had it,” Natasha reassured her.

“You guys sure you haven’t seen the sheriff around here?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, Rumlow? He took off on his own,” Jane informed them. “I had been trying to find someone to tell, but no one was available until just now.

Natasha and Darcy were silent for a long moment. “He did  _ what _ ?” Darcy asked.

Jane sighed and nodded. “Yes, so I had revealed what I’d learned about where the dead men were kept. Due to some algae, I found on all the bodies, I surmised their camp to be at the lake. And after I said that, Mr. Rumlow took off on his own. I’m assuming for the lake.”

Dr. Foster’s hands gingerly moved over the bruises on Darcy’s wrists. Likely thanks to the way she’d been chained on the floor.  Her shoulders ached too. From the awkward position, no doubt.

Darcy frowned. Brock was heading directly into that camp to save her.  And she wasn’t there anymore.

“I have to go find him,” she said, pushing Jane’s hand away before scrambling to her feet.

“You’re going to stay here and get better,” Natasha said. “You’ve been through an ordeal and--”

“And I want my husband beside me,” Darcy said defiantly, reaching for the pearl-handled revolver she’d laid on Brock’s desk. She slid it back into her pocket. “So I’m coming with you if I have to run alongside the horses myself.”

Jane sighed. “You  _ technically _ don’t have any serious injuries, but I still have to advise you to remain here under my care. You realize that, don’t you?”

Darcy nodded. “And I’m going to ignore your advice because my husband needs me.  Come on, Nat. Bobbi’s still there too.”

Natasha reached for something hanging on the wall behind the table, tossing it to Darcy. “Put that on instead of keeping that loaded revolver in your pocket, please.”

The leather gun holster was heavy in her hand as Darcy undid the buckle and wrapped it around her waist. It hung off one hip, and the gun nestled perfectly inside.

Darcy followed Natasha to her horse and hopped on the back of it, holding onto Nat’s waist as she rode before the militia to inform them of what they were doing.

Darcy pointed in the direction of the lake, and they were off.

The ride was oddly quiet, save for the distant cries of roosters on farms and the hoofbeats on the dirt of the forest floor.

There were quite a few men with Natasha. Some women too. About twenty-five or so riders in all. As Darcy remembered, there were at least twice this many people in the Hydra gang, but she couldn’t imagine they had as much ammunition as these people did. Horses neither.

 

* * *

 

The ride out to the camp wasn’t nearly as long as Darcy’s desperate scramble on foot had been, but she supposed that made sense. It almost embarrassed her how long it took her to make it back to town, but no one else seemed to be judging her for it.

She’d kind of hoped they’d have a shot at talking before running into the camp. Just to touch base. But when they got there, she realized that they couldn’t waste any time.

A quick survey of the scene brought all of them to the same conclusion. The Hydra gang members were just standing there, almost dead silent compared to the ruckus that they’d been raising when Darcy had been there last night. 

The militia who’d ridden with herself and Nat pulled their guns, holding them at the ready as they slowly surrounded the group of Hydra goons.

For what it was worth, none of them attacked or even rose to the defensive. They were too busy watching what was happening near the chuck wagon.

Two men, tussling and rolling around on the ground. Grunting in pain and knocking the hat off the other’s head. They were almost too far to make out their faces, but Darcy feared it was Rollins and Brock.

Rollins appeared to be the one on top. The one winning.

Her fear was realized when Darcy recognized the black hat that rolled from the tussle. It rolled out and fell down on the damp earth. Brock’s boot scraped a line in the mud when Rollins pulled something slowly away from him. Something that glinted silver and blood red in the early morning sun. She slid down from Nat’s horse and ran towards the two men, pulling the gun from its holster on her hip.

Natasha was right behind her, gun cocking at the ready, but she didn’t reach the center of the camp before Darcy had cocked her own gun, aimed and fired. The shot rang out through the camp and Rollins slumped forward, while Brock started hyperventilating. Wheezing as his hands clawed the mud to either side of him.

Natasha ran past her and pulled Rollins off Brock, rolling the still one to the side as the other man began to gasp louder.

“Darcy,” he rasped, his voice barely audible, but Darcy could hear him perfectly all the same. She fell to his side, eying the damage and coming up two shakes past worried.

He had a wound on his shoulder.  Just a flesh wound, but it had been messed with, judging by the spatter of blood on his shirt. The thing that really worried her was the gaping wound on his chest. Just below his ribs. From a knife.

Panic bloomed hot and fast just below her skin as Darcy scrambled for something to press into it and came up empty. Being forced instead to press her bare hands against the wound and choking out a sob when blood gushed between her fingers.

“Brock. Brock. Stay here. Stay with me.” she said. “Stay here.”

His eyes lit up when he heard her speak, and he started babbling. Mostly nonsense words. “My girl. My darlin... “

Natasha knelt beside Brock and took a knife to his shoulder seam, ripping the sleeve off and bunching it up into a ball, which she handed to Darcy. She pressed the fabric firmly against Brock’s ribs. He hissed in pain.

She heard people yelling behind her, the movement of feet, but all she could do was look into his eyes. Eyes that flitted around blindly.

“Look at me, baby…” she murmured, and he did, dark eyes leveling on her as he smiled.

“I love you, Darcy. Darcy, I love you,” he whispered, his breath coming faster and faster.

“I love you too, but you stay here with me. Brock?  Brock???”

His eyes seemed to roll back into his head as they closed, and she pressed harder on the wound, shifting to the side when Natasha came up behind her with a blanket.  Darcy heard the fabric rip as Natasha tore it into strips and began to tie them around Brock’s middle, knotting them as tight as she could before adding another and another. “We’ve got to get him to Jane,” Nat said softly. “I’m gonna put him on my horse, and you ride him back to Jane. Don’t stop for nothing.”

Darcy nodded, her bloody hands shaking as she finally pulled them back from his torso.

Natasha hoisted Brock over her shoulder, grunting as she carried him to her horse. Darcy was impressed that Nat could lift a big man like Brock, but she didn’t really have the time or luxury to think more than a few seconds on it before she was climbing up onto Natasha’s horse as well.

“How will you get back?” she asked.

“Whisper…” Natasha nodded towards the woods where a very nervous horse fidgetted.

She tossed Brock over the back of the horse, curled inward on himself, bent over his wound. Nat held out her hand for Darcy. “Here. Go on back to town with him. I’ll be right behind you with Bobbi.”

“What about this here?” Darcy asked, glancing around the camp.

“We’ll handle that. They’re not much without a leader.”

“Rollins is--”

“ _ Was  _ dead before he hit the ground,” Natasha said with a barely concealed grin. “You did good Darce. Real good.”

Darcy would probably feel a little better about that once she got Brock on the mend.

So, she climbed up on the back of Natasha's horse and dug in her heels, taking off towards town.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, sorry this took so long. I had a crisis of muse. 
> 
> But I'm back, and I've actually finished this fic, so I'll be able to post the last chapter/epilogue next week!

**Brock**

* * *

When Brock’s eyes opened, he didn’t want to move. His eyelids felt stuck, fused together. It was a wonder that he wanted to open them at all. His side ached like crazy and his shoulder burned. 

But there was a hand in his. A smaller hand. Smooth skin.

Darcy.

His memory was fuzzy, but he remembered her showing up out there at the Hydra camp. She’d touched him. Sat with him. Loved him.

She loved him. Of  _ course, _ he had to wake up. Darcy was here and she loved him.

So he opened his eyes and gazed over at her. At the way the setting sun seemed to make her hair gleam. Turn it into molten gold and chocolate. A mess, all down over her shoulders and unbrushed. But a beautiful waterfall of curls nonetheless.

She was clutching his hand against her forehead, her breath was coming slow.  And he didn’t want to wake her, but his arm was all pins and needles, so he gingerly tried to move it. When he did, she jolted away, her blue eyes blinking as she took him in. He was probably a sight for sore eyes. But she didn’t seem to care.

She squealed loudly. Her voice carrying in the quiet room.  It hurt even to smile, but he couldn’t help it. Not when she was here. Perfectly fine. And so happy to see him.

He was alive. And Darcy was too. Brock  _ felt _ god awful, but he’d heal.

“Hey there, beautiful, did you miss me?” His voice was raspy with exhaustion.

“Stop it,” she commanded, leaning in to kiss him gently.

As he lay there, he kept making himself promises over and over again, smiling up at his wife from this unfamiliar bed in what he could only guess was the doctor’s place.

Promises like how he’d spend more time at home. How he’d spend more time with her. How he’d do more around the homestead.

But the truth of it was, the truth that he realized even as he was making those promises… was that he couldn’t do any of that if he was still sheriff.

That was the clincher right there. He was still sheriff. He’d always be sheriff. And even if Hydra was ousted from these parts, a fact that he didn’t actually know to be true. For all he knew, they’d hightailed it into the hills with a wounded Rollins to regroup. But even in a best-case scenario, where they were gone? Another gang would slide in to take its place. His work would never be done. He’d never be able to keep any of these promises he made to himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by Natasha knocking on the door.

“Come in,” Darcy called, her hands still clasped around Brock’s. In the dimming light, he could see blood on her clothes, streaks of mud in her hair. Exhaustion in her eyes. She needed more sleep, not visitors. But he supposed Nat wasn’t really a visitor. Nat was family. Hell, she’d probably help him convince Darcy to catch up on some sleep, now that he thought about it.

Nat entered the room, dragging Bobbi in with her.  Bobbi had a black eye and a big knot on her forehead, but otherwise, she looked fine. Happy. So did Nat.

“You got a progress report for me, Deputy?” Brock asked, his voice still gravelly.

“Sure do,” she said, smiling.  “All the Hydra goons are in custody, turns out there was a Pinkerton bounty on their heads. So a few of those guys are coming out to claim them and to pay our town the reward…” She smiled proudly.

That was actually better news than he’d been hoping for. The bounty money could go towards some much-needed upgrades. A community hall, maybe? Someone could be elected mayor and take some of this burden off his shoulders. Plus they could pay for another deputy.

Even with the good news, the looming unknown hung over all their heads. Plus, he’d have to deal with a Pinkerton.

He must have made a face because Natasha laughed a little. “Calm down. It’s Coulson. You remember him.”

“Yeah, I remember him. Doesn’t mean I liked dealing with him.”

“There are worse ones,” Natasha reminded him. “Dirtier ones. At least he’s paying us the bounty and not keeping it for himself.”

She was right. And he was hurt anyway. His dealings with the man would be limited at best.

“All the Hydra goons, you said?” he asked, glancing over at Bobbi. “Just clarifying…”

“Save the ones who proved themselves,” Natasha said with a grin. “Hope that’s okay.”

“Fine by me,” he acquiesced. “Ain’t never had a problem with Bobbi.”

“She’s the one who helped me escape,” Darcy replied, still holding Brock’s hand, but reaching out to shake Bobbi’s as well. 

“Actually, Bobbi’s one of my favorite people,” Brock amended.

Darcy smirked over at him before turning towards the woman holding hands with Natasha. “Sorry I wasn’t the nicest person yesterday. I hope you understand.”

“Course I do,” Bobbi replied, slipping an arm around Natasha’s waist. “You had a bad day, it happens.” She smiled in a way that somehow belied mirth  _ and _ fatigue.

“How are you doing, Brock?” Natasha asked. “It was kind of pear-shaped there for a while…”

“Not sure. Just woke up and I got distracted. How  _ am _ I doing?” he asked Darcy with a soft grin.

Darcy shifted in her seat. “He needs to rest for a few more days. Jane had to reinflate his lung…” She gripped his hand tightly when she said that. “He’ll need to stay here and make sure his lung stays that way.”

Natasha sucked her teeth, shaking her head. “Rollins really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

Brock shrugged, which hurt, so he made a mental note not to do that again. “Maybe, but Darcy sure as hell did a bigger number on him,” he glances sideways at his wife, pride simply flowing out into the room.

“You hush. I wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t on top of you,” Darcy replied. “I ain’t the killing kind.”

“I know that,” he said sadly, squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry you were put in the position at all.”

Darcy started to protest, leaning down to smooth his sticky hair from his face. “No, no… don’t do that,” she pleaded. “I did what I needed to do. It was Rollins’ fault. Not yours.”

Brock tugged her closer and kissed her lips, effectively halting any more conversation for the moment.

“There is nothing in this world that’s more important to me than you,” he murmured, carding his hand through her tangled hair. “If I could quit being the sheriff, I would. But I can’t because I owe the town.”

Saying the words physically hurt because he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to quit. Not that he begrudged the town or anything, but he hadn’t really thought about the repercussions of the job when he’d taken it.

Darcy shook her head rapidly. “I’d never ask you to do that, Brock.”

“Still though. I”m gonna make more of an effort to keep you safe. Be a good husband.”

“You  _ are _ a good husband,” she countered.

“I’m a good sheriff. Still working on that other thing. But I figure it starts with me letting someone else help carry the load a little more. Plus… Natasha needs help.”

He rolled his head back on the pillow until he was facing Bobbi. She was still standing with Nat in the doorway. “Bobbi Morse, I hereby deputize you. You have the power to uphold the law here in Serpent Flats. To use any force or action within reason to keep the peace.”

Bobbi looked surprised, but as a smile spread across her lips, he could tell she was definitely happy.

She glanced over at Nat, who was grinning like a bobcat herself. “Thank you very much, Sheriff Rumlow. I won’t let you down. You or the people of Serpent Flats.”

Her acceptance speech was quickly interrupted by another visitor. The room was getting pretty crowded now that he was noticing such things.

Tony Stark sauntered into the room. Well, he sauntered as much as he had room to. Which wasn’t far at all. He eyed the other occupants of the room, nodding his head to Natasha and Darcy, introducing himself to Bobbi.

“Miss Barbara Morse?” he repeated back to her for clarity.

“That’s deputy Barbara Morse to you,” Darcy added gaily.

“Oh, in that case, you should probably mosey on down to the stables and I’ll get you set up with a horse.”

“You got any left?” Natasha asked.

Tony laughed in response. “I got a couple. Morse here can come down and have her pick after y’all finish up.”

“You’re too kind, Mr. Stark,” Bobbi replied.

“Yeah, I know. Can’t seem to help it any,” Tony quipped before turning towards Brock in bed. “Hey, how are you doing, Sheriff?” he asked, taking a few steps to bring him closer to the bed. Not so close that Brock had to crane his neck, but closer than he had been.

“Been better, but I’ve been worse,” Brock joked. “What brings you here, Tony?”

“Well, I actually come bearing good news. The townspeople have spoken. We feel you’ve fulfilled your duty to the town, so if you want to retire and live here as a citizen, you’re more than welcome to. A lot of people thought you might not want to, but I figured with a new wife, you might wanna try out the homesteader life. Slow things down a little. If you do decide to retire, we’ll let you name the new sheriff. We trust your judgment.”

Darcy let out a sound that could have been a gasp, could have been a laugh.  Considering she was smiling widely, he figured on the latter. He was glad she could make some kind of sound because he was blown away. Speechless. Unable to string together a sentence other than, “Well yeah.”

“Well yeah, what?” Tony asked, chuckling a little.

“Yeah, I think I might retire. Might try a little of that slow life, you know?” Brock nodded once, glancing over at Darcy. “What do you think, darlin’?”

She appeared flustered but was still grinning from ear to ear. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”

He sought out her eyes, holding her gaze. “I know that. I’m asking for your opinion. Would I get in your way at home, or could you put up with me?”

Darcy’s laugh bubbled up into the room. He loved the sound. “I guess I could put up with you. I reckon.”

Not wasting any time, he turned towards Natasha. “You want a promotion, Romanov?”

“Yes, sir.” Natasha’s grin widened. “When can I start?”

Brock reached over towards the table beside the bed and grabbed his sheriff's star and tossed it to Natasha. “As soon as possible.”

Natasha donned the star and Darcy turned towards Brock with her mouth wide open. “You’re really serious, aren’t you? You sure you don’t wanna take a few days to think about it?”

“Darcy, I’ve thought about it plenty. All I’ve ever wanted since you got here, was to build a home with you,” he said softly. “Now I can do that without worrying about everything else in the world too. Just you and me.”

“Just you and me,” Darcy murmured.

Jane opened the door soon after and protested loudly. “Why are there so many damn people in here? How’s he gonna get better if you’re all sucking up the air around him?  Shoo. Get out.”

She practically swatted Tony on the shoulder as he, Bobbi, and Natasha filed out of the room, calling their well-wishes over their shoulders upon their departure.

The doctor made her way to the other side of the bed and peeled back the gauze that was wrapped around his chest to inspect the wound. After she changed the bandages, she reached for the contraption she had laying over her neck. She put both plugs in her ears and pressed a small conical thing on the end of the tube over his chest. “Take a few deep breaths for me, Mr. Rumlow.”

“Stethoscope,” Darcy informed him. “To listen to your lungs. Just breathe in deep for a few and then breathe normally.”

He did as Darcy directed, taking a couple of deep breaths and then breathed normally while Jane moved that cone thing around on his chest.

“Sounds good. Your lung’s still inflated.”

“How will I know if it’s not?” Brock asked.

“It’ll get really difficult to breathe. Your chest might hurt. It’ll feel like you’re running out of room for air. Send Darcy to get me if that happens,” Jane replied.

She then checked and changed the dressing on his shoulder wound.

“Everything looks good too,” she informed him, getting up to wash her hands. “You can have some water and even some soup if you’re hungry. Just take it easy. Gonna keep you here for a few days and then send you home.”

He wanted to go home now, but both Darcy and Jane seemed pretty adamant about him staying put.

“Natasha’s been feeding the livestock, milking the cow. Nothing to worry about, okay?” Darcy assured him, reaching for his hand once more.

Jane dried her hands on a strip of linen hanging on the wall. “You know, Darcy was a huge help to me with your injury. She’s got quite a soft hand when it comes to hurt people.”

“Does she now?” Brock asked, eyeing her in her chair where she was trying her damnedest not to make eye contact with him.

“Mmhmm…” Jane nodded. “It’s a shame she doesn’t have time to help out once in a while…”

Darcy started to protest, but Brock interrupted, catching a longing look in her eye and running with it. “Well, since I’m gonna be home now more often, I feel like she could come up and help you some. If she wanted.”

Jane turned to Darcy. “Do you want that?”

“ _ Yes _ ,’ Darcy replied, and she jumped up to hug Jane. “You’re amazing,” she cooed over Brock, scurrying back over and leaning down to hug him. “You’re sure you can spare me for this?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, tilting his head up as Darcy leaned down once more. To kiss him this time. He could definitely get used to more of this.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo! We've reached the end! Enjoy this little epilogue! Thanks for sticking around all this time!

**Darcy**

**3 months later**

* * *

Darcy knelt down to grab a handful of wildflowers. Some of the stems snapped, but her grip was so tight that most of the flowers she emerged with had roots still attached. She giggled at the long stems and clods of roots protruding from the bottom of her hand. It was just as well. She’d trim them down when she got back home.

There was a nip in the air, these flowers would be dead and gone soon enough anyway.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling as she resumed her trek back to the house, where her husband would be waiting. Well, not waiting, he was likely out in the barn again, trying to patch up that pen where the pigs had broken out.  As it turned out, they kept trying to break back  _ in _ now that they were too big for inside living. She told him they should probably give them some kind of shade out there in the pasture, but he was deadset on fixing this first.

She figured it was the leftover sheriff in him. He wanted law and order on their little homestead.  And the pigs just wanted what they wanted, which usually didn’t coincide with what Brock wanted.

It was Tuesday, which meant she should be out working with Jane in the doctor’s office, assisting in whatever ways Dr. Foster needed her. Seeing as it was barely noon, Brock would be surprised to see her back so soon.

Considering her reasoning, though, his surprise would probably shift into something else entirely.

She’d been feeling poorly every evening, and she’d had a hunch it was more than just too much seasoning in her dinner. Not to mention the other symptoms. But she hadn’t known for certain until that morning when she’d felt the quickening in her abdomen. Little hands or feet thrashing around. A little stranger was imminent.

Darcy had squealed and Jane, who’d been kept abreast of all of her symptoms told her to go on home.  She’d come back to work the next week, but her friend knew Darcy wanted to tell Brock as soon as possible.

Given the sudden expanding of her abdomen, she couldn’t think that Brock had no idea, but he hadn’t said a word, likely to maintain decorum.

When their little house came into view, her belly swooped. A symptom of nerves, but with the delicacy of her constitution lately, she kind of wished she wasn’t so nervous.

As she’d expected, Brock wasn’t in the house, so she put the flowers in some water and made for the barn instead. The sound of hammering and swearing gave away his location, not that he made it a habit of hiding from her. 

He wasn’t in the stall she expected, however, but in a different one. The one where they’d wanted to keep the winter hay they were planning to trade for. Judging by the swears and curses under his breath, the trio of pigs had broken in here as well.

“Maybe it’s about time to listen to me and build them a place to wallow?” Darcy quipped from the stall entry.

Brock shot her a look over his shoulder, but even through his annoyance, she could feel the love radiating towards her. She giggled and he went back to hammering up some makeshift siding that would in no way deter three curious pigs from snooping around in here once they got the hay bales situated.

“You’re back early,” he said. “You vexing Jane like you vex me?”

“You know I only vex you. I think that was in those vows I took…”

The hammering ceased and he dropped the hammer, pushing up to stand back and admire his handiwork. “You really think them pigs need a place to wallow? They’re supposed to be pasture pigs.”

“Look, I might be a city girl, but every pig I ever saw had a spot to roll in the mud. They might not try to bust in here if you gave them a spot.”

“You ain’t no city girl,” Brock teased, moving over to slide his arm around her waist. He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Not anymore. You’re my girl now.”

“Well, your girl turns out to have been right.”

“I know, I’ll see to getting them a wallowing spot…”

“Not just about the pigs,” she said, her hand moving down to rest on her only slightly swollen belly.

Brock’s eyebrows jumped. “You mean…”

“Yup. I reckon you should expect a little stranger to join us come February…”

“No kidding?” He brought one hand over to cover hers, nearly yanking it back when he saw how covered in dirt and grime it was.

Darcy reached for and brought his hand closer. “No kidding.”

Brock leaned down, allowing his lips to capture hers. Of course, at that moment, there was a crash from behind him, and a light shone into the stall once more.

He sighed as the pigs started to snort and scoot their snouts around the floor of the stall. “Guess I need to go see about making them a place, huh?”

“You want help?” Darcy asked. 

“Nah. You’re moving for two now.  Can’t be seeing after these pigs anymore.”

“You haven’t let me see after them since the last time Nat and I chased them around the yard, though…”

“Well, maybe I felt bad about the last time, you believe that?”

“Former Sheriff Brock Rumlow? Feeling bad about something? Never,” Darcy scoffed.

He slid one arm back around her waist, hauling her closer. Albeit, more gently than he usually hauled her. She wasn’t about to complain about her husband’s hauling though, gentle or no.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he exhaled deeply. “You know, I’m just about as green about all this as you are.”

“About homesteading? Tell me something I don’t know,” she teased.

“Hey,” he retorted, kissing her lips briefly. “I meant about this ‘little stranger’ stuff.”

She pulled back, arching her eyebrows incredulously.

“Fine,  _ and _ the pigs,” he acquiesced. “I’ll go ahead and agree with you so you don’t sprain that brow of yours.”

Darcy laughed and draped her arms over his shoulders. “Guess it’s you and me, huh?”

“You and me and this one,” he looked down between them. “That okay?”

Darcy smiled, nodding her head. Just like when she’d arrived in Serpent Flats, not knowing whether or not she was going to even like her husband, let alone love him, she was scared of the unknown.

But this time, she wasn’t alone. That seemed to make all the difference.

“That’s more than okay,” she replied.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me some sugar if you liked it! I'm also going to copy/paste my forward from up above.
> 
> **DISCLAIMER: Also, I did zero research, all my 'facts' are the result of google searches while I write. I'm not interested in a historian's take on this time period. The point of the fic is the romance, not the historical facts. If that bothers you, go on and leave now. Because I am not open to concrit. Please/thanks!**


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